Gone
by TellMeSomethinIDontKnow
Summary: He wanted to find her, but she was hidden. He wanted to catch her, but she slipped through his fingers. He wanted to hold her, but the touch burned his skin. She was everything he hated in the world, yet everything he wanted. A DuncanXCourtney fic
1. What Were You Thinking?

***

Judgement is inevitable.

It's part of life, it's human nature. Stereotyping and assuming and generalising, it's normal— it's common. Not always right, but typical enough. Duncan, of all people, knew this well.

A single glance was all it took to gain a perspective. He was juvenile, he was trouble. He cared about no one but himself. He didn't follow the rules. There were no limits for him, Duncan knew no boundaries. One would assume that he had no respect for authority, no respect for a justice system of any sort. And it would go without saying that, of course, he had a black hole for a heart and a non-existent conscience. One would think that he simply was incapable of caring for anyone else, that the ability was so unbelievably out of his league.

But to think this would be presumptuous. For Duncan most certainly _did _have a conscience. He just chose to ignore it. Not unlike all the other adult figures in Duncan's life, it murmured its discontent without acknowledgement. And following the lead of those adult figures, the sound slowly died away, fading into nothing.

So he had learned, from personal experience, that first impressions were always the most accurate. The first idea that slipped into his mind was always the truest. And not once, not _once_ had he been proved wrong.

And that was just the problem Duncan found with the world. It was so… _predictable_. Each day droned on the same as the last, patterning a dull life. This simply didn't suit him. So, he decided to stir it up.

That was when trouble started.

It was thrilling, the uncertainty. It was exhilarating, and it reflected Duncan quite well. He could not, would not, _refused _to become predictable like the rest of the world. He wouldn't follow the trend. He would defy it.

There was this excitement, knowing he was different, that he did things according to his _own _rules. No one could tell him how to live his life, and that was exactly how he liked it.

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

The sound of the classroom clock seemed to reverberate in each of the students. They were gripping their bags, squinting at the plastic face of their tormenter. Only five long minutes until school would finally —_finally_— be let out for the summer. No more crappy cafeteria food, no more locks that were so old and rusted they only opened half of the time. No more demanding teachers, no more lame school dances. Just the summer, and all the freedom that came along with it.

Duncan didn't have any plans. He rarely made any. But the summer, in all its glory, was here. He'd been waiting since the beginning of school for it to end, and now the moment was closer than ever. And though he would just go with whatever the summer would throw at him, a gut feeling told him that he had much to look forward to. If only that damn bell would ring.

"And I can't even begin to stress the importance of summer safety, students," the nasal voice of Duncan's history teacher mumbled on, "I know this is a time to be free and frolic, but responsibility is still vital."

Not a single teen paid attention. Their heads were turned to one another, gossiping and laughing and devising plans for the next two months.

A boyish-looking teen with blond hair leaned forward in his seat to grin at Duncan.

"This is going to be _awesome_." He said with pure enthusiasm. The young man then proceeded to climb onto his chair and shoot a fist into the air.

"We are going to **party**!" He bellowed, and the class hollered its appreciation. Duncan mirrored his friend's smile as he clambered down from the chair, wobbling a bit as he did. The teacher frowned, not finding the rowdy interruption the least bit amusing, and returned to the small pile of paperwork on his desk.

The boy leaned nudged the delinquent with an elbow. "Duncan, man, this is gonna be the party of the _year_."

True, Geoff said this about most parties he attended, but Duncan had to admit— it _was _going to be one hell of a time.

Duncan was about to reply to his friend when the sound of the bell, the final bell of the year, rang throughout the classroom.

"Yeah!" The blond cheered, leaping from his seat and sprinting out the front door.

"School's out!"

* * *

"I really thought she'd come."

Geoff, not the least bit sober, nodded his head with what must've been drunken sympathy. The girl under his arm sighed.

"I'm leaving for Maui in a _week_. She could have at least come for a little while. What do you think, Geoff?"

"I think," he slurred, about as coherent as he was responsible. "_I _think, that, uh, that you're the most beautiful girl in the planet. And I don't mean just today, I mean…" the drunk teen squinted at the couch beneath him. "What… time is it? Dude, _dude_." He gripped Duncan by his forearm. "D'you got a watch on you?"

Duncan smirked at the rather messy sight of his friend. "Sorry."

Geoff's nose wrinkled. "Shit…"

His girlfriend pouted slightly, and looked at him with disappointed. "I hate it when you're drunk."

The careless teen's mouth curled into a sloppy grin. He tilted his head slightly. "Sorry, Bridge. Babe." Geoff then proceeded to lift the drink in his hand to his lips to take a sip, but not before Bridgette pushed it away.

She scowled mildly and grabbed the cup to place it on the table sitting in front of them, refusing to let him continue. Geoff just laughed, "No school!" and slumped against his girlfriend. Bridgette sighed, and turned her warm eyes to Duncan.

"So, do you have any plans for the summer? Going anywhere?" Her innocent eyes portrayed nothing but interest. Bridgette brushed several stray strands of blonde hair away from her eyes and pressed her lips together, waiting for an answer. Her other hand clasped Geoff's, as to make sure he didn't reach for the beer again. Sitting there, she appeared nothing short of motherly. The sight caused Duncan to roll his eyes lightly with a sort of annoyance.

_Give the guy a break, will you? School just let out, and he can do what he wants._

Duncan had no idea what his friend saw in the girl. She was too… _good. _But, then, to each his own. If Geoff wanted to waste his time with her, then that was his choice.

Stretching an arm around the back of the sofa on which they sat, Duncan scanned the bustling scene of partying teens and gave a quick reply. "Nah. Not really."

Her light brows furrowed, and she leaned across the passed-out teen to hear more clearly. "Sorry, what did you say?" Her voice mixed in with the pounding beat of the music that surrounded them, and Duncan strained to hear as well. When had the sound been turned up higher?

"Nothing. I'm not doing anything." He told her once more. This time, Bridgette nodded.

"Yeah, well, I'm doing some volunteer work this summer. Trying to finish my forty hours before school starts, you know? I have the feeling that senior year is going to be pretty busy."

She continued, but Duncan felt himself spacing out of the conversation. School was far from his mind, so low on his list of priorities. College and his absent volunteer hours had been pushed out of his head the moment they had entered. He held no concern about the state of his future. He could handle anything that was thrown his way. That was how he had dealt for a while, and it worked just fine. It fit his profile, anyway.

And as Duncan had been so unfortunate as to learn, sometimes it was easier to go by expectation.

* * *

An angry, glowering six-year-old Duncan stood towering on the wooden edge of the school's sandbox. His arms were crossed, and his features held as much threat as a young boy's could.

"That's my shovel."

An awkward boy of the same age hesitantly turned his coppery head from the mound of sand he had been constructing to meet Duncan's eyes. The scrawny boy's lips curved into a trembling little smile.

"…Oh?" He squeaked.

Duncan, feeling superior, nodded his head firmly. "Yeah, so, you have to give it back. It's _mine_."

At six, _mine _must have been every child's favorite word.

But the smaller boy was more stubborn than he had assumed, the plastic red shovel still clenched in his clammy palm. "Well, what if I don't want to?" The densely freckled child said with a shaking bottom lip. Go ahead, Duncan thought, cry like a little baby, why don't you? "I was using it first. I'm not giving it to you."

Blue eyes were narrowed.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

Stepping forward, Duncan gritted his teeth, and drew back an arm.

"_**OUCH!**_"

And though it had merely been a spur of the moment, a sudden feeling, Duncan couldn't deny the ultimate satisfaction he felt as his small fist collided with the boy's stomach.

Of course, not everyone felt the same way.

"Unbelievable!" The grade one teacher raved as he paced the carpeted classroom floor, the short, greying beard on his chin waggling as he spoke. "Hitting another pupil! Do you understand the consequences, young man?"

The boy scuffed his sneaker against the side of his chair and shrugged uncaringly. "No."

An eyebrow was raised angrily, and Duncan rolled his eyes with an over-the-top sigh. "_Yes._" He groaned rather sarcastically, his gaze shifting to the window, where the other children still played. "Can I go back outside now?"

His teacher's eyes sparked with obvious disapproval.

"I don't think you understand what's going on here. You _injured _a boy, do you know what that means? If you were older, the results of your actions would be far worse. Assault is a crime, Duncan. Keep that in mind. That little stunt you pulled outside was _unacceptable_. And all over a plastic shovel? Ridiculous! If it weren't for your age, I would…"

Rant, rant, rant. That's all adults ever did. Why couldn't they let it go? So he punched Harold— he _deserved _it. Was that all that bad, what he had done? Did that make him such an awful child?

When he returned home, it wasn't much better.

"Damn it, Duncan!" His father roared, slamming a fist on the dinner table. Duncan focused his eyes on his feet. A teacher was one thing, but his father was something entirely different.

His mother slid her blue eyes to her husband. "Arthur, now, calm down. Duncan didn't know—"

"Oh, he _knew _alright_. _Beating up a kid… What were you _thinking_, son?"

No words came to mind. Duncan's mouth was as dry as the sandbox. He gave a slight shrug.

"You don't _know_?" The man's voice cracked at the question. He ran a hand shakily through his thinning hair. "Your room. Go. _Now._"

With nothing but an unhappy nod, the boy turned and marched towards the staircase. His head was cloudy with his father's sharp disapproval. He hadn't meant to let down his father. It had just… _happened._

His foot was raised to mount the last step when he heard something from below that made him stop in his tracks.

"Carol? What did we do to deserve such a hopelessly corrupt child?"

The foot hovered.

Hopeless?

Corrupt?

The regret turned to hurt. Duncan's eyes went steely.

"Oh, Arthur—"

He recognized the creak of chairs and knew his parents had turned to see if he had heard.

"Duncan, I didn't mean…"

His heart was pounding. His head throbbed. And then the anger inflamed. He might have been young, but not so young that he didn't know what his father had meant. Not so young that he didn't know what he thought of him.

Well, if he already had been labeled, he might as well start living up to his reputation.

Without a glance at his parents, Duncan flew down the stairs three at a time and sprinted out the front door. He had no idea where he was going, but he ran. Down the driveway and onto the street, his feet slapping the sidewalk like the beat of a heart. He ran like it would erase what he was, _who _he was. Like it could change everything.

But things like that don't just disappear. Being labeled that day caused a shift in who he would become. Because suddenly, what he was meant to be wasn't a set plan, but a choice. He could be whoever he wanted to; he could be someone who didn't need _anyone's_ approval. Someone who didn't need to satisfy those who had no faith in him. Duncan didn't want to, would_ not _become someone who tried to please those who saw him for merely what he was, not what he _could_ be. Not what a little bit of guidance, a bit of inspiration could do for him. They saw what they thought he was— someone who wouldn't heed advice, wouldn't try to change. They saw a troublemaker, an addict, a thief. They saw something they didn't like, something unlike them, and took it as their duty to brand him. They didn't bother to think twice.

So who could blame him for taking it to heart? Who could blame him for judging the world in the same way? And who, who could _dare_ blame him for being who he wanted to be?

Not once did he look back.

* * *

Rain splattered sideways against the ground rhythmically. Duncan was walking against it.

He'd left early. Early enough, since it must have been three in the morning. His feet skidded against the pavement of the road, yellowed by streetlights. The muggy air coated his skin, and he dug his hands deep inside the pockets of his jeans.

His mind still hadn't adjusted to the calm of the night, for in it pounded a heavy beat, racing with the excitement and thrill of his evening. Only whisper of alcohol touched his lips, though, as he had somehow lacked a taste for it. Odd, since Duncan had never before hesitated to reach for a drink, tonight no exception. Yet when the liquid had brushed the back of his throat, a feeling of disgust overcame him. So he set the glass bottle down for a moment, with intentions of returning to it, and sauntered off. But he hadn't come back; in fact, he left the party altogether. And though its reasoning was undeterminable, he had a sudden feeling that it was in his best interest to depart. So, unsure as he was, Duncan obliged. Gut feelings, as he had learned, were to be trusted— contradictory to his desires as they might be.

Though in the tender light of the crescent moon and with the intoxicating pitter-patter of the rain, Duncan ultimately stood by his decision to leave. Because, formidable as it was, the nighttime had always attracted him, with the way the world seemed to stop and listen to every creak and sigh it made. The acuteness brought out something in him, something that made his blood a degree warmer, his skin a bit tighter, his eyes a bit sharper. It was as if something was lurking in the darkness, something foul, something he needed to find, and soon.

It was more than that, though. The unpredictability played a role, no doubt. In the daytime, he could see what was happening, what was going on. He could predict and calculate and understand life as it shifted around him. But when the sun went down, when the shadows thickened, uncertainty set in. It was an excitement, the likes of which Duncan couldn't picture in any other way.

Nocturnal, he might as well have been. It suited him accurately enough.

Although, not everyone saw it as he did. There were still people who opposed him, who stood in his way. _God— _how angry it made him.

Yet, if you were to ask Duncan, if you sat him down and stared boldly into his eyes to ask why, _why_ he held a strong hate for authority, you might not suspect the given answer.

Of course, he despised those who enforced the rules for stereotypical reasons you would expect. He hated the fact that they could take anything and find a fault, that they could eliminate freedom of choice and set restraints. Sure, that was the truth— but not all of it.

His reasons lay past his disagreement. What struck Duncan as such a pity, such a waste, was the fact that they couldn't see past the boundaries of their blinders. They were too occupied noting how wrong it was to appreciate the night as he did, they couldn't look beyond what they had been limited to. They could take restrictions to heart, enforce them, but not see that they weren't really there, that it was simply a matter of perspective, and what they chose to follow. It was frustration, really, that Duncan felt. How could they not see the wonder in all things dangerous? How could they not even consider the pleasure of such a _rush? _

Trying to make sense of it was far down on his list of worries, though. In truth, he didn't really care what they did. He had his opinions, but as long as they stayed on their safe, secure and utterly bland side of life, there was no troubling him. By all means, they could waste away and never know the truth about what it meant to _live._

Such thoughts were ripe in his mind when he heard the sudden, loud rumble of an engine. His eyes turned up sharply and he heard the screeching of tires, along with a shriek.

The front bumper of the car had missed him by five frighteningly short feet. He had been so close to being hit; it was a miracle he wasn't laying on the cold ground in pain. Yet, despite his obvious luck, Duncan didn't find himself breathing a sigh of relief, nor was he dropping to his knees in gratitude. In fact, he was rather calm; his gaze transfixed on the dark, widened eyes of the driver.

And for a reason he couldn't quite conjure, Duncan found himself unable to look away.

* * *

**I'm exceptionally excited for this story, I've got to tell you. Having an idea for about eleven months will do that to you! This isn't another high school fic, just so you know. It's a fairly different idea. Basically, it's all set in Duncan's point of view and will focus on the development of their relationship and, something I just adore, their friendship as well. Savvy? I can't give everything away… just check up on this story once in a while to see if you can become hooked ;)**


	2. You're A Bit Of A Freak

***

Duncan, standing without the ounce of adrenaline that you'd expect from someone who just barely avoided being struck by a car, parted his lips to speak. But the words did not surface quickly enough, as the driver then rolled down the window and stuck her head out.

"Hey!"

Her tone, shrill and accusing, wasn't what Duncan had been expecting. An apology on her part would've made more sense, but the girl continued to screech.

"What are you doing walking in the middle of the road? I could have hit you!"

This girl was familiar, but Duncan had a hard time placing her. She certainly wasn't someone he hung around out of his own free will. By the way her eyes seemed to subconsciously judge him, there wasn't a second's thought as to what type she was. At this, his upper lip curled in disgust.

"It's two in the morning! How _irresponsible_ are you to be wandering down the street?"

Was she from school? Maybe, but then again, she seemed _too _familiar to have been merely one of a few dozen faces in the crowd. Duncan knew he must have spoken to her at some point or another, but just where and when, he couldn't recall.

Trying to get a better view of her, Duncan waltzed up the side of the car and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Where in the hell had he seen her before?

"I mean, what if I hadn't noticed you? You would have been hit! That would have ended up on _my_ record! Or what if someone had been racing around the corner and—"

Suddenly, something in his mind clicked, and he interrupted.

"You're Courtney, aren't you?"

That was it— she was a friend of Bridgette's. There was more to it than that, but not much. He figured he might have copied off of her during school at one time or another, but that wasn't something he was likely to remember.

She stopped, brow furrowing, and shrank slightly back into her seat. "Yes, but—" Then, as though something registered for her as well, she lifted her hands from the steering wheel and promptly crossed her arms, a look of disdain settling plainly on her features. "And you're Duncan." Her eyes then narrowed as she recalled something else, and he watched as she bit the insides of her cheeks before speaking. "You were the one who flushed a full bottle of laundry detergent down one of the school's toilets last March, aren't you?"

Smiling at the memory, Duncan gave a slight nod, "Ah, you remember that, do you?"

"Of _course _I remember. We were out of school for a week so all the pipes could be fixed. I was on the committee that helped raised the money for repairs…" She paused for a moment, and pursed her lips. "I'm surprised you weren't expelled."

"I got a suspension." He replied with smug satisfaction at the sight of her dislike. It was always good to know that his actions had the effects he'd hoped for. And by the way her nose crinkled with annoyance, Duncan knew she had been the exact audience he had hoped for.

Her eyes, black in the light, rolled as she moved to grip the steering wheel once more. "Well, I'd hate to cut our conversation short, but I've really got to go. So, bye." Courtney said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and averting her gaze. Duncan, having little care for her intentions, leaned against the door and arched a brow.

"What, aren't you going to give me a lift home?" He pressed, though rather futilely, as he knew full well what her answer would be. And as he predicted, the girl's eyes flicked back to meet his, irritation spiked in them. "I think I deserve that much, after the way you almost _ran me over_."

Her mouth parted open, and a growl soon followed. "It's not my fault— you were standing right in my way! If anything, you should be apologizing to _me_ for nearly giving me a heart attack and not even having the courtesy to own up to it!" She glared, and even in the dark, Duncan could make out the intensity of it. But as he looked closer, anger wasn't the only thing he saw. Leaning in her direction, he noticed the soft curves of her heart-shaped face and the dark, penetrating eyes— which, as he assumed, could turn sweet in a flash. Not for him, Duncan noted, but quite possibly for someone that mattered. Her hair was cut cleanly off at her shoulders, and he could faintly smell the fruity smell of whatever conditioner she used. He had to give the girl credit— she _was _pretty hot, but not the type his eyes would have landed on otherwise. In fact, the only reason he had been able to survive speaking to her this far was because of his slight physical attraction towards the girl.

Oh, well, he might as well have some fun— his evening had so far proved dull enough, and anyway, seeing the girl turn red with a blush might be entertaining.

So he gave a secret little half-smile, and flashed Courtney a look that would gain her curiosity. "Maybe it's your fault, maybe it's mine. Doesn't matter now, does it? But if you give me a drive, we can, oh I don't know… talk about it. And while you're at it, tell me what a fine girl like yourself is doing out this late. Who knows, maybe we were meant to run into each other? Maybe we're meant to…" here he lowered his voice, as to shield his words from nonexistent eavesdroppers. "…Have some fun. How 'bout it?"

And her face did turn a shade of pink, but it wasn't from flattery in the least.

"Oh, God. You _are _vulgar." She spat, pressing a button to roll up the car window.

Duncan, annoyed at her lack of interest, snarled inwardly and jumped back to his initial point. "_Look, _my house it about ten blocks from here. I don't feel like walking that far, so why don't you just get all those ideas of rape out of your mind and give me a ride? That's all I want."

The window was open only a crack when Courtney lifted her hand off of the button and scowled. "And why should I help _you?_"

"Because—" Here, Duncan paused. Truthfully, she had little reason to offer him a ride. But, as he thought about it more closely, there were certain things that proved to be in his favour. "You nearly hit me with your car, which I'm sure counts as reckless driving. Plus, isn't it a little late for you to be out? And I'm guessing by how jumpy you are that you wouldn't want anyone to find out about this, would you?" And he let the corner of his mouth curl into a slight smile, because he knew by the subtle widening of her eyes that he was right.

"So you intend to _blackmail _me," Courtney started, voice slow, yet still firm, "all in order to get a ride home?"

Now the smile spread fully. It was mocking her, and this didn't escape her notice. "Yeah, that's pretty much it."

Courtney snarled under her breath, and turned her eyes back on the road as she settled back into her seat. And though her expression showed stubborn hesitance, a battle against herself, Duncan already had the answer he desired.

"Fine. But I swear, if you do _anything_, I'll—"

"Uh-huh. I got it. Just _relax._ I'm not going to try anything. Unless," He leaned against the window, and eyed her openly. "You want me to…"

Duncan started as the glass by him jerked up, nearly catching his fingers in the closing gap.

And he narrowed his eyes, as a feeling quickly overwhelmed him.

_After tonight, I hope to God I never see this chick again._

* * *

"Duncan? Is that you?"

At those words, everything in Duncan froze. They certainly never meant good news.

A petite, raven-haired girl with intense hazel eyes strode towards him, her sharp heels clicking against the dirty linoleum floor of the mall. There was a whisper of a smile on her lips as she reached his spot and let her gaze take him in.

"It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And Duncan smiled, as he, almost frantically, raked his memory for her name. Amy? Alice… Alexis? It must have been a while since he last saw her, and the girl's name had slipped from his mind over time. She still remembered him, though. And that, if nothing else, was a bad sign.

"Yeah, it has. When did I see you last? Seems like a long time ago, now."

Amy, Alice or Alexis nodded, her smile growing wider. "Well, yeah, it has. I wouldn't forget you, though. You were my first."

Inwardly, Duncan winced. He was in more trouble than he thought.

How bad was being the girl's _first _and not even remembering her name? The word _'screwed'_ interrupted Duncan's thinking. It was odd, since he was usually fairly good at remembering previous flings, and this shouldn't have been any different. Yet the girl, to his misfortunate, was ringing few bells.

But she must have noticed his alarm, as she then raised an eyebrow and clarified. "_Kiss_. We played seven minutes in heaven at Sarah Brown's Halloween party in eighth grade. Don't you remember?"

The memory dawned on him then, and memories of that night flooded into him mind. Thankfully, her name was among them. "Oh, I remember all right. So what have you been up to, Mel?"

At the mention of her name, Melissa's face brightened. "Oh, the usual. Just… not much. What about you? Still getting into trouble?" She then tilted her head, fingering a glossy strand of hair. Duncan took this as an opportunity to appraise her. Even at thirteen, he had incredible taste.

And he smiled crookedly, crossing his arms and letting his eyes glint. "Yeah. All _kinds _of trouble."

He watched as her gaze flickered with a sense of mischief, her hand reaching into the purse hanging from the crook of her arm. Silently, she pulled out a pen and a slip of paper. A moment later, he held her number in his possession. "I've got to go, but give me a call." Melissa then winked, and turned on her heels to stride away. Duncan's eyes followed her as she filtered into the crowd, and disappeared.

Huh.

She had remembered.

The slip of paper, silent as a whisper, fell from Duncan's fingers as he made his way towards the exit.

He didn't glance back.

* * *

"What are you doing out here, anyway?"

Courtney, acting as though she hadn't heard him, kept her eyes ahead of her.

"Well? Are you going to tell me?"

Her lips pursed, she tossed him a quick, unattached glance. "Give me one good reason why I should."

Having little motivation behind the interest, Duncan gave a careless shrug and turned his face towards the window. "Because I'm curious and probably won't stop harassing you about it until you give in."

"That's a rather pathetic reason." She muttered, her grip on the steering wheel tightening as they rolled down the street. If nothing else, she was doing a poor job of masking her dislike. Though, she probably wasn't trying very hard to begin with. "Which way?"

"Left," Duncan instructed, and Courtney pulled through the intersection. "You might as well. What difference is it going to make? I'm sworn to secrecy, remember?"

She sighed heavily, as though her reasoning should have been obvious. Then, straightening her shoulders even more, she cleared her throat and began. "No, I won't. And here's why— Firstly, I don't trust you when you say you'll be quiet. I'm not a _complete _idiot. Secondly, it's a matter of pride, if you're acquainted with the idea. Thirdly, and in conclusion, I do not like you. So, _no._"

He gave a snort, "_Thorough,_" and propped his feet up on the dashboard. "Well, here's another question for you, then— why are you so high-strung? School just let out, I thought even _you _would be able to appreciate that."

"I'm not high-strung! I'm not!"

Duncan snickered. "Oh, yeah, you're _real _easygoing. Come on, you've got the entire summer ahead of you. You can do whatever you want. Doesn't that seem at least _somewhat_ better than doing work all day, every day?"

She bit her lower lip, and she shook her head with a fixed expression. "Not really. I like structure. And summer's so… disorganized."

"You can take the fun out of just about anything, can't you?"

The annoyance returned to her features, stronger now, and Duncan wondered whether the steering wheel would break under her grip. "Oh, just shut up! What do you know, anyway?"

"Exactly." He let a smile form, and decided to see how far he could push her until she cracked. "You've really got to stop being so tense. Just loosen up a bit, will you?"

There was a harsh look that crossed her just then, and her voice, when it came, was forceful and screechy.

"Don't even start! You have no _idea _what's going on right now. Ugh! I can't _stand _you!"

And Duncan paused, taking in her tone for a moment. It seemed there was more to this than he knew.

Huh.

"You're a bit of a freak, you know that?"

Courtney shot him a glare.

"Move your feet."

He smirked, and slowly obliged, allowing his legs to cautiously return to their former position on the floor. "Alright, alright. But really, I'm curious now." He was treating this much less seriously than he probably should have. But it was in his nature to underestimate, and, knowing her, it was probably some little thing that she had managed to blow way out of proportion. "Just tell me what it is."

"For the last time, I'm _not _going to tell you. Why do you even care?" Her hate, it seemed to him, had reached its peak. But in truth, it had not even come close. Not yet.

"Like I said, I'm curious. So come on, tell me." And he shifted towards her, his arm moving to rest on the back of his seat comfortably. "I'm not going to tell, and besides, what does it even ma—" He would have finished his thought, when something caught his eye. "What're the boxes for?"

"Huh?" Courtney glanced behind her for a moment, and he could've sworn she winced. "They're just, uh, boxes."

Eyes beginning to narrow, Duncan's gaze shifted from the back seat to the girl at his left. "I know _that. _What's in them?"

"Stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "Just— _stuff. _What's the big deal?"

The big deal was that it was a pretty suspicious group of boxes, and being filled with so-called '_stuff' _wasn't helping any_. _So Duncan, sceptical enough, didn't brush off his interest. "Well, what, are you moving or something?"

It took a good minute for Duncan to realize that she wasn't about to answer.

"That's it? You're moving?" He raised a brow, feeling he had caught on to something.

"Once again, _why _do you care?"

"So I'm right, then?"

No answer.

"Well… where to?"

She gave an exasperated sigh. "For the millionth time, I'm _not_ telling you."

But a smile was crossing his features, because Duncan knew that she would eventually crack. He had only to give the push. "To where?"

"I'm not telling!"

"C'mon, Courtney, go ahead— Tell me."

"No!"

"Aw, babe, just go ahead and tell me. You'll feel better if you do."

"Don't call me that, and my answer is still _no._"

He laughed lightly and nudged her arm. "Well, _babe, _what's it going to matter if you're leaving, huh? I'm not going to go out of my way to visit you or anything, so you might as well. I won't see you again, right?"

She scowled, most likely because he had a point, and gritted her teeth. "No, so stop asking!"

"Maybe I will if you answer me."

_Crack._

"Florida! Alright? I'm moving to Florida!"

The smile, mocking as it had been, faded.

His brow furrowed, and he tried to meet Courtney's eyes. "You're kidding me, right?"

Courtney, annoyed with herself for spilling, and with Duncan for drawing it out, shot a quick glare in his direction. "Do I look like I'm kidding?"

No, not really.

"Do you know where we live, Courtney? Have you checked a _map _recently?"

The girl rolled her eyes again.

"I'm _aware _of the distance, Duncan."

"Alright, let me get this straight," he started, tipping his head to the right and watching her with a wary gaze. "You're leaving in the middle of the night to go on a road trip from —correct me if I'm wrong— the city of Kamloops, British Columbia, to the state of _Florida? _As in, a trip worth over fifty hours?" He paused, and let the words hover for a moment. "Is that right?"

"Yeah."

There was silence for a moment as the idea sunk in.

But then, Duncan grinned.

"_Wow. _I would have never thought you were the type to ditch everyone here to drive to the Sunshine State. Never would have guessed you had the nerve."

In truth, he _was _rather impressed. Who knew the goody-two-shoes could have an inner rebel? Maybe, maybe she wasn't so bad after all.

And he would have considered this further, when Courtney's voice picked up.

"It's not a _vacation._"

With those words, his approval waned.

"Then what is it?"

Again, she was quiet for a minute. And suddenly, things sobered down.

"It's… _necessary_."

There was this feeling, something poking at Duncan and trying to gain his attention. There was something going on, and it was more intense than he was comfortable with.

He shifted, and tried to get a better view of Courtney, but she had begun to block herself off from him. His suspicion was greater than ever.

"Well? Why are you going, then? It doesn't matter whether you tell me anyway, so you might as well while you can."

"No."

How stubborn _was _this girl?

"You've told me plenty already, so what difference will it make?"

But her resistance was stronger now, and Duncan knew she wouldn't say, no matter how persuasive he could become.

"I've told you barely _anything! _You've just figured it out for yourself. And you don't need to know— this has nothing to do with you, anyway!" She snapped, her undertone near desperate. "I should have never picked you up in the first place," Courtney added, her eyes bright and angry. And though she wasn't an even-tempered girl to begin with, as Duncan could easily tell, there was something besides him that was making her furious. There was something _else_.

He was just forming the words to coax her into admitting, when he caught himself. No, that wasn't going to work. But, as he thought about it, she was right. Duncan _had _come to a conclusion on his own— so why couldn't he put two-and-two together and figure it out?

The sinking feeling grabbed his attention again as he raked through the possibilities. Maybe he didn't want to know. Maybe he should stop wondering about it entirely.

But Duncan knew that wouldn't happen. He had the curiosity of a seven year old.

Well, he already knew that she was leaving for Florida in the middle of the night, and that she—

_Wait._

She couldn't have been just _leaving_. Why would she be leaving in the middle of the night if there was nothing more to it? She was a girl who needed purpose, who needed reasoning. No, she was—

Sneaking out.

But that didn't make sense either. Courtney was a straight-A student. She followed the rules, she _made _the rules— he had known that about her the moment they had met. So why was going against everything she believed in?

Because it was _necessary._

The word dropped straight through his stomach and pooled uncomfortably on the bottom.

"You're running away, aren't you?"

And though Courtney didn't mutter a single word, the draining of the warmth in her face said everything.

There was something like a bell that went off in his mind. And how he came to such a conclusion, he would never truly know. Maybe it was the way she was sitting, the independence in her voice. Maybe it was because he could read her well enough, maybe it was because it was a logical enough explanation. Or maybe, just maybe it was because he's felt the same, that he'd been the same situation.

"It's your parents, isn't it?"

Duncan jolted forward, and for the second time that night, he heard the screeching of tires.

Her gaze snapped to meet his, and he felt a chill rush down his spine. There was this look in her eyes, so strong he couldn't have mistaken it for anything other than what it was. It was anger, thickened with a kind of hurt he couldn't place. But it was the lack of vulnerability that caught him off guard, something he hadn't expected.

And then, looking into her eyes, Duncan knew for sure.

_He was right._

"We're here. So _go_."

Looking out the window briefly, Duncan realized that they had in fact reached his house. He hadn't noticed it before, but throughout his interrogating, the car had increased notably in speed. As had Courtney's breathing.

"_Go._"

Leave? After everything, after all he had learned, only to _leave_?

And though it was stupid and irrational, a thought sprang to his mind just then— something he would no doubt regret in the next hour, something that, when looked back on, would cause him to question his sanity— and Duncan chose to run with it.

He reached across and snatched the key from where it was placed in the ignition, turning off the car and yanking it out. Courtney yelped in immediate irritation and tried to grab it from him, but Duncan was too quick. He whipped open the car door and sprinted across the lawn, the girl's yelling fading behind him. He pushed open the front door and raced up the stairs to dash into his room.

His mind was buzzing with the knowledge.

_Courtney? No, that doesn't fit. Her parents couldn't be… No, that doesn't work…_

"Duncan— what are you _doing? _Give me my keys back!"

Clothes— pocketknife— spray paint can— wallet— passport—

"You're such a jerk!"

_But that __**has **__to be it. There isn't any other explanation. Who else would she running from? Who would she be forced to sneak away from in the middle of the night? It makes perfect sense… yet it doesn't…_

Zipping the duffel bag closed, Duncan threw it over a shoulder, only to meet a fuming Courtney at the door. Her eyes widened and she drew in a breath, taking in the sight of his luggage.

"No. Not _even_. Not in a million _years_."

But he dangled the car key in front of her, smirking a bit more maliciously than he should have.

"I'm going with you."

* * *

**Gasp!**

**Yeah… not really what you expected, huh? I realized it's kind of different and maybe a bit confusing, but it'll all become clearer with the next chapter. Yeah, there are a few loose ends (Duncan's parents are… where? They first met… when? And what about Geoff and Bridgette?) but I promise to tie them up in the next or follow chapters. All in good time! And, for the record, I'm not about to turn Courtney into a sappy victim that can only survive on Duncan's love. She's way too independent for that. Expect some adventure, a bit of hurt/comfort, and some friendship. Romance too… but not right away ;) Ech, trust me on this.**


	3. Spare Me The Trouble

***

"No. No. _No. _For the last time, you're not."

Courtney growled and reached higher for the keys.

"You shouldn't even _know_ about this! Ugh!"

He had been toying with her for several minutes now, and hadn't said a word. It wasn't as though he would be able to convince her, anyway. And besides, Duncan had made up his mind. He was going to go, all the way to Florida, with this psycho chick whom, he noted feverishly, he didn't even _like. _In fact, he could barely _stand _her. But even with this truth so apparent in his mind, he was _still_ going far out of his way to spend hours on end with her, in a cramped little car, with a never-ending awkward silence.

Sure, that made a whole lot of sense.

But it was that damn gut feeling again. There was something inside of Duncan that was screeching for him to go. Who knows, maybe he could ditch her halfway through the trip? Maybe this was an opportunity hidden in the rough. And by rough, he meant a crazy girl with a tight sneer.

"Give it back, or so help me I will—"

"_Look_," Duncan cut in shortly, his patience broken. "I'm coming on this trip, and you're just going to have to deal with it. You can whine, and you can complain, but you've got no one but yourself to blame. You dumped this entire thing on me, so you're going to have to live with the fact that I'm going. I'm stuck with you, so live with it."

As if that were the final word, though Duncan was not so naïve as to think it was, he brushed past her and made his way down the stairs.

"My fault? _My _fault? Are you kidding me? I told you barely anything! Not to mention, you kept asking and asking to know end! _'C'mon, tell me! What's it gonna hurt?' _You figured it out on your own! And now you're supposedly _stuck _with me? Yeah, right! You're just being a… a…"

Duncan turned his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at the girl as she paused to find a word. The upstairs hallway remained unlit, and he found he liked it better in the dark.

"A what?"

Her eyes flashed at the sound of his voice, and she snapped, rather pathetically "A _jerk!_"

He chuckled and continued to saunter down the steps, as Courtney fumed behind him. "I can't stand you!"

"Really? I couldn't tell."

"Ugh!"

* * *

Duncan smiled as the last piece of hair fluttered to the bathroom floor. He stepped back, and appraised himself.

Not too bad.

Sure, the Mohawk was a bit messy (as was the sink and counter, he noted— but ignored) but it didn't look awful. And with the hair dye, no one would notice the uneven cut. And really, all it needed otherwise was a little bit of styling gel for it to stand up straight and proud, and then the look would be complete.

Not long ago, the idea of an eccentric haircut wasn't something that Duncan had seriously considered. But after seeing his father's reaction to the intense red of a good friend's hair, he had given the idea a second thought.

"Disgusting, truly disgusting." The man had muttered, shaking his head. They were driving home after having picked Duncan up from the local park, having missed his curfew for the second time that week. Though really, who could expect a rebellious fourteen-year-old to make the effort to be home on time?

"You think so, dad?" He smirked, eyes drifting out the window as dark houses rushed by.

Duncan's father snorted. "Yes, I do. I swear, Duncan, if you ever do that to your head, I will personally rip out each and every hair, one by one."

The smile twitched, and his eyes flickered with intention.

"Huh,"

The box instructed him to leave the dye in for fifteen minutes, but Duncan figured that for such a bright colour, longer would be better. Twenty would do the trick. He had also made sure to get the demi-permanent, since it lasted longer. After all, the longer the style lasted, the longer he could enjoy his father's annoyance with him. Duncan figured he could get a good month of colour from it, until he was set to dye it again.

It was up to about the seventeen-minute mark, according to the small watch he had set on the bathroom counter, when Duncan heard a woman's voice from the other side of the bathroom door.

"Duncan, honey? Dinner's on the table… You've been in there for a long time. Uh," She paused for a slight second, before continuing cautiously. "…Do you want me to come back in a while?"

"What? Ah, mom— no! I mean," He rolled his eyes and turned on the tap. "Just wait a second. I'll be right out."

And not a moment later, he emerged, hair now a bright green.

His mother dropped the dish towel in her hand, lips forming a slack _O._

They stood in silence for a long minute, until she finally sighed and ran a hand through the damp excuse for hair her son had arranged on his head. She wasn't angry, at least.

"Your father's going to kill you."

And he grinned, knowing full well that this was true. "Yeah, I realize."

"Well," she started, picking up the towel from where it had been resting on her feet and glancing at her son's palms. "Let's at least wipe your hands. They're _covered_ in dye. Didn't you use gloves?"

The woman then began to scrub away at the mess on Duncan's skin with the patterned towel in her clenched fist. It hurt a bit, as though she were scraping off the skin on his hand, and not the dye. But, knowing he would want his mother's alliance in a few minutes, Duncan chose not to point this out, and endured. After a long moment of scouring, her eyes grazed past the bathroom door, and the woman groaned. "Please tell me you wereplanning on cleaning that up." Carol's tone hardened slightly, her blue eyes —a bright trait Duncan had inherited— narrowing. If nothing else, she was particular about how her house was to be kept.

"Yes, mother."

She leant forward and placed a kiss on his forehead, to Duncan's dismay, and flicked off the bathroom light. "Well, let's get this confrontation over with."

Right. _That_.

Following behind his mother, Duncan slid down the hall and into the dining room, where his father sat, fork in hand. The man's eyes rose from the newspaper at his side and snapped immediately to his son's hair.

"What the hell did you do?"

Unable, and not attempting to, retrain himself, Duncan flashed his old man a cheeky grin. "Well, dad, I slid down a hill on my head. I'm sure the grass stains will come out eventually."

Arthur started to say something, when his wife cut in. "Well, I like it. It suits him, and Duncan's allowed to what he wants. It's his hair." Giving a curt look towards her husband and son, as if to warn them not to make trouble, she turned and slipped into her chair.

Duncan, wanting a reaction of some sort, waited. His father didn't disappoint.

"You look like a punk."

Satisfied, he shuffled over to his spot and dropped into the seat. His smile had twisted into something better considered as a sneer, and Duncan chose to flaunt it. Sarcasm made its way towards his lips.

"Thanks, _dad_."

The words tainted his tongue, and drifted away without a response.

* * *

He tossed the duffel in the car's back seat and slammed the door. Courtney was gripping him by the arm, rather tightly, he noted, while she hissed, "What do you think you're _doing? _There is no way I'm allowing you to come with me— you'll mess up _everything _that I've worked so hard for. Do you realize I've had this trip planned since I was _eleven? _And I will have you know that I've used every spare moment I had to earn the money that I need. Since I was_**eleven!**_"

Her words held reasoning that would have convinced anyone else, but Duncan wasn't like everyone else. When he set his mind on doing something, it would be done one way or another. Granted, his ambitions were never very scholarly nor towards the benefit of mankind, but nonetheless he was determined. It was ironic, in a way, since the very characteristic that caused Courtney the most amount of despair was also been one of the only traits they shared.

"My answer is no. No, no, and no. You cannot come."

Smirk.

"Good thing it wasn't a question. Now, here's how it's going to work—" and he drew in a breath, when Courtney, quick as could be, cut in.

"No, let _me _tell you how it is going to work: you are going to leave, and be completely _silent _about everything that has occurred, do you understand? None of this is your business, none of your concern, and _not _your problem. So leave. Me. _Alone_!"

Duncan rolled his eyes and turned to the girl, who was fuming to such a degree it was nearly abnormal. He crossed his arms and leant against the side of the car, tone calm and under control. "I don't think you're really in a position to be bossing me around. Don't forget, I've got your keys." And, to emphasize her vulnerability, he twitched his wrist repeatedly, so Courtney could hear the jangling of metal against metal. "But if you wanted to make a bargain, I might be up for that."

She scowled at the mere idea of bartering for something he had no right to, but out of what must have been pure curiosity, she humoured him with a response. "A _bargain? _Like what?"

Clicking his tongue lightly, Duncan pursed his lips and tried to come up with a half-decent solution. He knew all too well she wouldn't go down without a fight. "How about this: You let me go with you, and I'll give you your keys back."

"That doesn't sound like much of a bargain." Courtney growled, her eyes growing darker.

"Let me _finish_." Duncan snapped, irritated. Could she not even consider the idea for a _moment? _"I'll go with you, and we'll split the cost of food. How's that?"

Scoff. "Oh, yeah, _right_. I pay for the hotel rooms, the gas, and the other half of the food cost. _That's _fair."

_Hotel rooms?_

Oh, hell. He hadn't even _thought _about that.

"Okay, okay, here: I pay for food and every other fill-up on gas. Is _that _fair?"

The scowl didn't lift.

"Come _on_," Duncan groaned. "It's not like I've saved up for this or anything."

Courtney's eyes flashed, and it was obvious he had said the wrong thing. Again.

"Oh, well, _I'm_ sorry. Is making my life a living hell not in your budget? You don't have to pay for anything— you're not invited!"

At this point, Duncan was near angry. How could this girl not grasp the concept? He was going with her, and she had no say. End of story.

But he smiled, and gave a slight shrug. Because protest as she might, the outcome was inevitable. The cold metal digging into his palm was a reminder that he, despite Courtney's beliefs, was the ultimate decider. And his mind was already made up. "Well, then, I guess I'll just take these," he slid the key ring on a finger and held it up for her to admire "and leave."

Courtney glanced from Duncan to her keys and back again. He could tell that she was unbelievably torn, and wasn't very good at dealing with it. Futility didn't sit well with her, it seemed.

They stood there for a moment, as the girl was probably racing to find a solution in her mind. But nothing came, and she clenched her jaw pointedly.

"_Fine._" Courtney hissed, making to grab the keys. But Duncan jerked his arm away, and nodded towards the car.

"Get in first, and then you get your keys back." He wasn't about to take any chances with this girl. She was a ticking time bomb.

Huffing angrily, Courtney turned sharply and made her way to the door, yanking it open and slipping into the driver's seat. Duncan, a feeling of smug triumph swelling in his chest, hopped in beside her. She gave him a harsh look, before clicking in her seatbelt and holding out her hand impatiently. With reluctance he garnered just to annoy her, Duncan slowly leaned over and dropped the keys in her palm, adding a wink. Her cheeks reddened, out of red hot anger, and she started the car. The girl sucked in a breath and held it for a moment, until finally she sighed and pressed a bit too hard on the gas pedal. They sped away from the house, away from the neighbourhood, and out of the city.

And they were gone.

* * *

What the hell had he been thinking?

Such a phrase was rarely one to cross Duncan's mind. But the odd moment that it did, it was often due to a kind of spontaneity that he evidently regretted. This was no different.

This girl, this_ girl_, was _unbelievable_. She was so stupidly unaware of how dutifully she had followed those limits that had been set for her, so _willing— _it was sickening, really. And yet, there was something about her he never could have placed before. A girl like that, a girl like _her, _coming from a family like _that_? Courtney hadn't said anything about it, not a word, but the look that had spread over her features without even a moment's hesitation said it all. But how bad could it be? On what level? Truthfully, the idea hadn't sparked sympathy in Duncan. It seemed heartless, and in a way, it _was_— but then, who was he to be concerned? He didn't even know to what extent her situation had reached. For all he knew, she could simply be overreacting about something stupid and unnecessary. Though, he had to admit, if only to himself, that Courtney didn't seem the type to be very rash. There must have been something to truly push her over the edge.

But, his scepticism aside, there wasn't much of a reason for him to worry. Duncan wasn't a naturally compassionate person in the first place, never mind the fact that he couldn't have cared less for that particular girl.

So… why did he feel so obligated to come?

No, no. Not _obligated. _Just… well, it was only that the situation had presented itself, and he had taken advantage of it. In complete honesty, Duncan doubted he would make it even halfway to Florida. There were just so many other things he could be doing that summer… he wasn't about to waste too much of it on one girl. Especially not Courtney.

"How long is this trip, anyway?" He asked, interest mild. They had been driving for almost three hours now, and few words had been exchanged between them. The sun, warm and pink, had just barely begun to poke into sky ahead of them.

Courtney pursed her lips and didn't say anything as she thought for a moment, her fingers tapping the steering wheel softly. When her voice did come, it was slow and calculated. "Well, it's about fifty hours straight to Florida, give or take. But then there will be traffic to add onto that, of course, and assuming I'd like to be driving about nine to ten hours a day… not to mention I'd have to add on time for the odd stop now and then… I'd say approximately six days."

"Why don't you just drive through the night? You'd save a lot of time."

Her nose crinkled at the idea. "And what, just sleep on the side of the road when I'm tired? No _thank_ you. I've planned this whole trip, and I intend on doing it the right way." She yawned slightly at the mention of sleep, and nodded her head in the direction of the road before them. "Look, we're going to be approaching the border soon, so I think we'd better get our stories straight first. Do you have a passport?"

Glancing behind him, to where the duffel bag sat, squished between the back of his seat, Duncan nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's in there. Why do we need to come up with _stories?_"

The girl, annoyed by his lack of understanding, gave a little scoff. "Well, they're _obviously _going to ask us what we're crossing the international border for. They _have_ to, to make sure no one's bringing anything illegal into the country. That's the law. So, I figure we can come up with something along the lines of…"

"We're leaving for college, maybe? That would explain the boxes."

She shook her head. "No, I thought about that. Passports state your date of birth, so it wouldn't be too hard to notice that we're a year short of college. Besides, I'm not going to _college_, I'm going to university."

"Does that _matter?_" Duncan said with an amused snort.

With a sigh, Courtney dismissed his comment and mused on. "We need something simple, and something that's not an entire lie, in case they figure out that we're being dishonest. And, of course, it can't be suspicious or anything."

"Don't you think you're thinking about this a bit too much? Why not just tell the truth?" Duncan suggested casually. She shot him a raised eyebrow, and he continued. "Not _all _of the truth. Just say you're moving to live with your aunt in Florida."

"Well, since I don't have any better options, I guess that's fine. But," she paused, thinking some more, "what about you? What's _your _explanation supposed to be?"

How was it that nearly everything she said managed to come out disdainfully?

This in mind, Duncan slouched in his seat and shot a dirty smirk in Courtney's direction.

"I just came along for the ride."

Her eyes narrowed spitefully. "It was _your_ idea to tell the truth, Duncan, so _tell_ me. What _are _you doing here? Why did you want to come so badly? Aren't you going to get in trouble with your parents, anyway?"

His smiled slipped at the word _parents, _and Duncan bit the inside of his cheeks distastefully before turning to watch the road as it streaked by them, challenging, "aren't _you?_"

She shot him a dark glare, as if to warn him not to even so much as approach the idea.

"Probably," he answered after a moment with an indifferent shrug. "But do a give a shit?"

Courtney gave a look that reeked of disapproval. Duncan shot her the same one.

"Even still, you've got to take some responsibility." She chastised. "Don't you think they'd be worried?"

The truth was, there _was _a slight, lingering guilt. Because, though he wouldn't be quick to admit it, Duncan wasn't eager to worry his mother. She had been through it all. Every mistake he had made, each time he messed up, she had been there. When his father's face was bright red with fury, she had been the one to calm him down. She had always managed to keep whatever frail relationship the two men had from falling to pieces. Yeah, sure, there had been times when she had looked at him with such a sense of disappointment, it hurt; but there was also a twinge of understanding. And though it couldn't be enough to undo everything he had done, or to turn him on a better path, the knowledge that at least one person believed he wasn't entirely corrupt was enough to keep his feet on the ground.

"My parents are out of town." Duncan stated finally, after a silence that had extended longer than he had intended. "For a conference or something. They won't be back for a week anyway."

"You should still call them."

Giving a small grunt, Duncan shifted to lean his elbow against the edge of the window. The glass was cool against his skin, and it prickled.

"Yeah. Whatever."

* * *

"Drivers license and registration, please."

Courtney leaned across and clicked open the glove compartment before Duncan. She pulled out several papers and a plastic card, turning back to hand the information to the uniformed officer through the window. Giving a sweet smile to the man, whose eyes didn't bother to return the friendliness, Courtney folded her hands on her lap and waited.

A moment passed, and then the officer stretched his arm out of the booth's window and handed Courtney back the license and registration, who accepted happily. Duncan knew better than to take the eagerness as her honest reaction, though. She was paranoid, and couldn't get the prospect of being 'found out' to leave her thoughts for a moment. It was stupid, really, and he decided to use this. "Passports."

"Ah, one second." Duncan flashed the officer a smirk and turned to reach into the back seat. He unzipped his bag and began to dig through it. After a minute of searching, he shifted back into the seat and waved the little book in front of Courtney. "Got it."

The brunette rolled her eyes, and turned with a hint of embarrassment to the man in the booth. "Well, Duncan, give the officer your passport." She instructed without looking at him, through a forced smile and as she handed the man her own.

But Duncan didn't follow her order right away. Instead, he let his eyes drift past Courtney and meet those of the impatient officer's.

_Who the hell does he think he is wearing that uniform? Why does it make him any better than anyone else? How does it give him the right to tell me what I can and can't do?_

He gritted his teeth, and produced a spiteful smile.

"So, exactly how long does it take to become a police officer, anyway? Like, a couple weeks?"

The sound of a sharp intake of breath reached his ears, but he ignored it. The man's lips twisted slightly.

"It takes years of training and studying, _boy_."

The smile slid wider. "All that just to sit in a booth?"

"_Duncan._"

Ignoring Courtney's tone, he reached over and shrugged, handing the officer his passport. The man snatched it from his grip and opened the small book. He handed it back after a moment, and asked, "Purpose of visit?"

Duncan parted his lips to give a smartass answer, but Courtney was quick to beat him to the punch. "I'm moving for the summer to live with my aunt in Florida."

"And your boyfriend?"

"_He,_" Courtney cut in swiftly, not pausing to question the man's assumption. "Is helping me move. Right, honey?"

She snapped her gaze to Duncan and, while the officer could not see, contorted her face into that of pure anger and annoyance. The look in her eyes screamed murder, and this amused Duncan. He smiled, and, with the same sort of sweetness she had infused into her own words, he replied. "Of course, _sugarplum_."

Courtney looked back to the man and fixed the smile back into her features. Her hand found its way to rest on his forearm, in a gesture that looked nearly affectionate. But Duncan knew better, as her nails then began to sink into his skin, and he nearly winced.

"And illegal substances, any alcohol?"

"No."

"Any uncooked meat or dairy?"

"No, none at all."

"Any weapons, knives or guns?"

"Oh, no."

The man nodded.

"Alright, move along. Just learn to respect authority, son. It might keep you out of trouble."

"Oh, don't worry," Courtney jumped in, her bright expression waning with the pressure of her anger. "I'll make _sure_ of that. Thank you, officer."

She pressed on the gas lightly and they pulled through. But immediately after they were out of earshot, Courtney screeched.

"I can't _believe _you!" She glowered, face turning red. "I knew you were going to do something like that! Ugh, can't you do _anything _right?"

Duncan shifted slowly and reclined in his seat. He yawned, and stretched an arm. "Ech, I could. But what fun is _that_?"

"It's not about f—"

But he wasn't interested in hearing the rest of her rant, so he let his eyes close and stopped her. "Yeah, yeah. I get it. Bla bla bla, I need to correct myself before I _completely _ruin my future. I've had the lecture plenty of times, I don't need to hear it again. Now if you don't mind, _sweetheart, _I'm going to have a nap."

She continued on for a while, but her voice eventually faded away, and Duncan slipped into sleep.

* * *

"Uh, Duncan? Wake up."

No… five more minutes…

"Wake _up, _you moron. How in the world can you sleep for this long, anyway? Wake _up._"

Duncan made a face and turned his head away from Courtney's order.

"Look, I know you're awake. So just get _up _already. Spare me the trouble."

Finally, after annoying her for several more minutes, Duncan opened an eye. He rubbed the side of his face with the back of his hand and yawned lightly. It was nearing dark again, and they were parked near a pump at a rest stop. His gaze shifted to Courtney, who was speaking to him through his open window.

"Wha…?"

"You fell asleep around seven. I'm filling up on gas, so you go get snacks or something."

Thinking about it, Duncan faintly recalled stopping to eat at a fast food place along the way. He must have fallen asleep shortly afterwards.

"I'm not hungry, what do you want?" He mumbled, sitting up and loosening his stiff joints. How he would manage a car ride like this every day for the next week— he couldn't begin to imagine.

The girl bit her lower lip softly as she considered. "Uh, well, a bottle of water. That's all. Now go." She pulled opened the door, and motioned for him to slip out. Duncan scowled at her, still annoyed at having been woken.

He took a moment to stretch, before sighing and stumbling over to the convenience store. After grazing past the short aisles and grabbing a bottle of water from the back fridge, he made his way to the front counter and reluctantly reached for his wallet. "Pump number four," he indicated, remembering their deal of how to split the costs.

"No, not that pump."

Duncan's brow creased, and he nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure it's that one."

But the man's moustache bunched and he shook his head. "No, no. The girl paid a minute ago. She just left."

"No, that—"

He was about to object, when the idea hit him like a brick.

"_Shit_."

Duncan left the bottle of water on the counter and sprinted out of the store. Sure enough, his duffel bag was sitting there on the black pavement, plainly as could be, in place of Courtney's car.

He twisted his neck from left to right, trying to follow where she was. But there was no sign of the girl, and the heat in Duncan's body rose up his neck and flooded into his face. He gritted his teeth and balled his hands into tight fists.

She was gone.

* * *

**Ooh! How about **_**that. **_**This story is turning out more and more unpredictable. And it's getting longer, too. I don't think I'll be able to update before the holiday break (I need to figure out the plot for the entire next chapter :S) so I'll say it now: happy holidays, people! Whatever you're celebrating, I hope you enjoy it! Even if you're sitting alone in your room with only a cupcake for company (…) I hope you guys have fun. I don't know… I'm just in the holiday spirit right now.**

**This chapter ties up a few loose ends, but then again, it unties a few as well. And no, Duncan has NOT fallen head-over-heels for her. When that will happen (I mean, IF it happens. Maybe this just isn't as much of a romance fic…), I'M not even sure yet. I know **_**how **_**it'll happen, just not at what point. I really only have up to this part planned out. The rest is, well, kind of scattered all over my mind.**

**So, because I don't believe I have said it yet, thank you. Thanks for reviewing, faving, and simply reading. It's really awesome!**

**Oh, and can you guess what Duncan's mother was referring to…? ;)**


	4. Especially Not You

***

Anger throbbed inside Duncan's skull. He jaw was clenched at an odd angle, and his knuckles were white as he tightened his fists.

_How could she have just _left_?_

And though the thought swirled in his mind, Duncan knew there was no reason to ask. The answer was too obvious.

He had forced himself upon her. Blackmailed and bartered against the girl until she had succumbed. Duncan knew all too well that she didn't like him, even _hated _him for it. So the real question was not as to why she left, but why he was so naïve as to believe she wouldn't.

Duncan decided to weigh his options. There was the obvious, Courtney-approved solution of simply catching a train or bus back home. But that didn't appeal to him. In a way, it would be like… _giving up. _And Duncan was in far too deep to bail out now. But how would he even manage to find her? Courtney hadn't even brought up the name of the hotel she was staying at.

Pacing for several minutes, Duncan raked through their previous conversations for hint to where she would be. But the longer he thought, the more he started to question his own intentions. Maybe this was as far as he was supposed to go. Maybe this was his stop, this was his chance to ditch the girl and follow his own route. Duncan searched for a gut feeling, an answer or guide, but his intuition was blank.

Grunting, Duncan leaned over and grasped the strap of his duffel bag. His eyes flicked up, as though Courtney might pull up and apologize at any moment, but she didn't. The gas station remained barren.

He slumped over to the convenience store and dropped the bag in front of the counter. The employee, who was counting bills in the register, glanced up.

"I need a number for a taxi," he muttered dully.

In an annoying kind of snort, the man laughed. "Oh, did your girlfriend desert you, now?"

"Yeah." Duncan said with a slight glare and without bothering to correct him. "She left."

The man nodded, more understandingly than sympathetically, and offered his advice. "You've got to treat 'em right, you know? My wife left me years back. Said she needed somethin' better than me for a husband. But jus' because I ain't got no degree don't mean I didn't treat her right. Like a princess, she was. An' I did my best, but sometimes that isn't enough for 'em. They want men with education and shit. They want a big 'ol house on a hill with a sports red in the driveway and a vacation home in Switzerland to boot. But I said no ma'am, because we ain't got that kind of money. That's not my fault, now is it? I inherited this station from my father, an' I said I wouldn't give it up to go to _college. _That suited her fine enough, until one mornin' years later when I find both her and the car gone."

Duncan gave an appreciative scoff and leaned against the counter.

"But I ain't complaining. Got rid of her, didn't it?" He gave a yellowish grin, before turning to the old phone by the cash register. "I'm gettin' carried away. You get kinda' lonely working here, you know? Anyway," He began to dial. "You goin' to the Holiday Inn too or tryin' to avoid the girl?"

At the words _Holiday Inn, _Duncan paused. "What?"

"Well, is she worth chasin' after or are you flyin' solo?"

"You know where Courtney's staying?"

The man's rather furry eyebrows rose. "Well yeah, she was in here askin' for directions. I told her the Holiday Inn on Bloomer Street was a nice enough place to stay, real fancy now that they've renovated it, but that the motel in town was cheaper. The mattresses smell a little funny an' the place is a bit run down, but if you're only stayin' one night, where's the harm?"

A smile was spreading fully over Duncan's lips now, and he could nearly picture the look of shock on Courtney's face, plain as day, in his mind.

"Yeah," he answered finally, chanting the street name in his head so as not to forget it.

"Believe me, she's worth chasing after."

* * *

"Ready for your birthday beats?"

Harold turned his coppery head up from the open comic book lying on his desk. The boy contorted his features to show his annoyance, a sort of scowl and squinting combination that looked more like he was trying to read something far away. Unfortunately for him, the anger he had managed to express did not reach the fear that was building in his eyes.

"Fifteen, right?" Duncan smiled, eyeing the nerd's soon-to-be bruised shoulder.

"I can take you on, you know," Harold more-or-less threatened. "I've been taking martial arts for the past six weeks, and I'm pretty much, like, a master now."

Duncan snickered at this, and watched Harold flinch at the sound. "_Dance dance revolution_ isn't kung-fu, dweeb."

The scrawny teen's face flushed red. "You're just jealous." He accused, starting to shake.

"Is that what your mommy told you to say?"

Harold stood suddenly, his desk screeching against the floor. "N-no!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah! I mean— no! I mean— _whatever_. I can still take you on!" Harold insisted, lifting his thin arms and showing Duncan his fists. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, as if he were a boxer.

"I'm no expert, but I'm pretty sure that punching isn't allowed in martial arts."

Harold paused, taking this in, and promptly opened his fists, sticking his sharp elbows up. "Prepare to feel my _wrath._"

"I'm not interested in feeling anything of yours," Duncan hissed, becoming fed up with Harold's sureness. He grabbed the awkward teen by the front of his shirt and lifted him several inches off of the ground. There was a quiet, mocking ripple of laughter that surfaced from the small crowd that had gathered round the two boys. "But if you think you can fight me, I'll give you the chance to prove it to me and everyone else after school."

The redhead swallowed loudly, his determination having withered away at the proposition. "Fight… you?"

"Three o'clock, by the basketball nets." Duncan let go of Harold, allowing the boy to slump into his seat again. "Unless, of course, you're too scared."

"Uh, _no._"

Duncan's lip curled slightly.

_Uh, yeah._

"Three o'clock," he repeated, starting towards the classroom door. "Behind the school. And if you don't show—"

Duncan didn't finish his sentence, but instead cracked his knuckles suggestively.

And with a final glance at the look of fear in Harold's eyes, he left.

***

"Dude, are you seriously going through with this?"

Duncan shrugged his shoulders. "Yeah, why not? Nerd needs to learn a lesson, and I might as well be the one to teach it to him."

Geoff clicked his tongue, and said nothing more, fading into the crowd of teens that had gathered to witness the brawl.

In truth, Duncan knew there was no true reason for beating Harold up. Sure, he was annoying and a complete dork, but that didn't mean he deserved the torture Duncan was expected to put him through. But, even with the knowledge firm in his mind, he didn't dare back down. Why risk his reputation for _Harold? _No, that was unthinkable.

_Who knows, _Duncan mused, _maybe the nerd will know what's best for him and not show up._

But Harold did show up, spot on time and with his head held high. He reached a hand to his face and carefully removed his glasses, setting them down gently on the pavement. "Alright," he said finally. "Bring it on."

It was impressive. Sure, Duncan could clearly see the apprehension in Harold's eyes, but the fact that he was there at all was surprising. The boy obviously had more guts to him than anyone had known. Either that, or he was just really, really stupid. But in a strange, twisted way, Duncan almost admired him for it. Almost.

Duncan watched the boy's glassy green eyes graze over his own. It was apparent he was as blind as a bat without his bifocals. "Are you sure about this?" The stronger teen taunted, crossing his arms. "You can't even see me."

Harold screwed up his face. "I just don't want to break my glasses! _Gosh._"

"_Piggy,"_ a voice picked up, and the crowd snickered amusedly.

Ignoring the _Lord of the Flies _reference, Harold proceeded to raise his hands, taking the same defensive position he had earlier, and settled in a sort of lunge. "One of the things I learned while studying the ancient art of kung-fu was the ability to sense your opponent without eyesight. You can attack from any direction, and I'll see it coming from a _mile _away."

"_Bullshit,"_ the voice said again, and once more the teens grinned.

Harold's palms were becoming visibly sweaty. He wiped them on the front of his cargo pants and continued to stare Duncan down. Or, at the very least, try to. His gaze wavered, both as a result of his fear and the absence of his glasses. Duncan was finding it increasingly evident that the fight would end in tears. _Harold's _tears.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The group of teens was waiting, waiting for either boy to strike. As it was unlikely Harold would be the first to make a move, the expectation rested on Duncan's shoulders.

But before he could do so much as launch a punch into the boy's stomach, a man came storming around the corner.

He was tall and slim with thinning brown hair and beady black eyes. His face was lined deeply with a determined frown and he was clothed in a dull gray suit that smelled of moth balls. At the sight of the man, the teens broke free of their cluster and reeled away.

"There's nothing to see here!" He announced loudly, ushering the students away. "Leave, there won't be a show this afternoon— Not _you._"

He grabbed both Harold and Duncan by their arms and swooped out of the area, hauling them inside and dragging them towards the office.

"Did you get a haircut, Mr. Welding?" Duncan smirked, unfazed by the wrath of his principal. Tyranny wasn't a rare quality for him to see in the man.

The man did not answer him, but took the moment to glance down at Harold, who was breathing heavily. "What's wrong with you?" He demanded.

Harold made several gestures before he could finally manage to get the words out. "I need— _inhaler. _I need my inhaler."

Mr. Welding released the boys and shoved them towards the office bench. Harold scrambled to reach into his pocket, pulling out his inhaler desperately. He pressed it to his lips and breathed. Duncan smirked.

_He really __**is **__like Piggy._

After a few moments of inhaling, Harold finally removed the puffer from his mouth and slipped into back into his cargo pant pocket. They sat silently, awkwardly, for several minutes, before the scrawny boy tentatively spoke up, exposing the question that was surely on everyone's mind.

"I wonder how he knew."

Duncan scoffed, folding his arms. "He has a box in the office for anonymous tip-offs. Someone told him about the fight."

Harold nodded towards the floor.

"Who do you think… you know… told him?"

The punk shot him a glare. "How the hell should I know?"

Reeling back at the venom in Duncan's voice, Harold reached into his pocket to take another breath form his inhaler. "I was just asking, gosh…"

But the truth was, Duncan knew _exactly_ who tipped him off.

He just prayed no one found out.

* * *

"Yeah, this is the place."

Duncan reached over and slapped the bills into the taxi driver's calloused hand, before slipping out the door and heading towards the hotel, bag in hand. He pushed through a revolving door and marched up to the front desk, where a petite blonde with a phone in her hand sat calmly. When she noticed Duncan approaching, she set the phone down and smiled. He could tell it was forced— a common reaction.

"Hi, can I help you?"

Mulling over the words in his head carefully, the teen organized a sentence and let his lips slide into a matching smile. "Yeah, actually, I'm looking for someone."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow raised slightly, and he could feel her hesitance. "And who are you looking for?"

"My girlfriend. She checked in not long ago. We're going on a road trip and this is where we're supposed to meet." The lie slipped flawlessly, and the girl looked slightly less uneasily. "So if you could tell me what room she's in, that'd be great."

The blonde's eyes shifted to the computer before her, fingers slipping over the keys. "She just checked in?"

"Yeah— Courtney. Brunette, dark eyes. Has a bit of a temper."

Suddenly, the girl's face lit up with recognition.

"Oh, _her. _I remember. Yes, she was upset with her room." Her lips paused momentarily. "She's your girlfriend, you said?"

Duncan let out a chuckle. "Yeah, she is. A bit of a firecracker, but you've got to love her."

The girl laughed too, and was quickly in Duncan's palm. "I'd say so. Anyway— would you like me to call up first to let her know you're here?"

The smile spread, though it had a different meaning than the girl knew.

"No," he decided as she began typing into the computer.

"I want it to be a surprise."

* * *

Her eyes widened instantly, and she moved to slam the door.

"No!"

But Duncan was too quick, slipping his foot into the gap before he could be shut out.

"How— how did you—" Courtney sputtered as Duncan forced his way into the hotel room. He glanced around, before setting down his duffel bag on the gray carpet.

"Nice pyjamas_._" The boy snickered, eyeing the blue flannel print. Courtney's gaze flicked to her pants, and her face flared red.

She brushed off the comment, though, and continued to demand an answer. "How did you know I was here? I never…" Her lashes fluttered as she thought, and a moment later Duncan observed a look of realization dawn on her. "The man at the gas station told you, didn't he?"

Acting nonchalant and uncaring, Duncan wandered over to an open pizza box sitting on top of the dresser and picked up a slice. "You really should cover your tracks better," he told her through a mouthful of hot dough and cheese. It was a veggie pizza, but Duncan was too hungry to care. Lazily, he dropped onto the hotel bed and kicked off his shoes, grabbing a remote from its spot on the bedside table and turning the television on. After sitting in a cramped car for so long, it was nice to recline fully.

"That's not for _you._" Courtney hissed and made to grab the slice. Duncan pulled it away, before proceeding to stuff the remaining food into his mouth. The girl made a face. "You're _disgusting._" She spat, eyes blazing.

"And _you _are _unreliable_." Duncan mused, stressing the word lightly as he swallowed. "How do you think that made me feel? Hmm? To be left all alone? Ditched at a gas station? See, now, you've gone and hurt my feelings."

Her eyes narrowed at the sarcasm.

"But I'll forgive you," Duncan added with a reassuring smile. "_If_ you apologize."

Anger pulsing, Courtney tilted her head to one side and scowled. "Oh, I _am _sorry. Sorry I have to deal with you!"

And she parted her lips to insult him again, when a buzzing noise sounded.

Her gaze slid away, to the side table beside Duncan. His followed, and his sight landed upon a slim phone. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Courtney tense.

Calmly as possible, the girl reached over and picked up the device, but did not open it. She bit her lip softly, eyes searching the lit cover.

"Well? Aren't you going to answer?" Duncan nudged her teasingly, though Courtney did not respond right away. After a moment, she simply turned on her heel and walked out towards the balcony, closing the screen door behind her.

Duncan stared after her for a moment, completely confused. How had she gone from _furious _to eerily composed so quickly?

He waited for her to return, but several minutes passed, and there was still no sign of her. So, with curiosity guiding him, Duncan slid open the door and stepped outside.

His lips had almost started forming words when he caught himself. Courtney was pressed against the railing, back to him, cell phone in hand. She was silent, but the harsh words projecting from the mouthpiece made him flinch.

It was a woman's voice, loud and forceful, screeching questions and accusations. _Why aren't you here? Where __**are **__you? What the hell is wrong with you?_

Courtney was too absorbed in the words to notice Duncan. She was standing tall, maybe a bit too tall, and there wasn't a quiver in her body. She stood, still as could be, and listened.

Finally, an emotionless voice cut through the words.

_End of message._

Courtney slowly closed the phone, letting it rest tensely in her palm, and didn't move immediately. She stared out, over the parking lot and into the buzzing little town before them. It was dark, and they could hear the humming of cars from the distant highway on which they had travelled earlier.

At last she turned, and as she did, Duncan braved himself for tears. But her cheeks were dry, and her eyes didn't even seem to sparkle. She startled at the sight of him, but quickly regained herself.

"_What?_"

Duncan studied her, the mixture of emotions in her eyes, the strength in the way she carried herself, and found himself falling into something he couldn't understand. How could she not break down? Surely she was hurt— surely she was in pain and misery. But her expression betrayed nothing of the sort. Looking at the girl, the only word Duncan found to describe her was— _determined_.

Pushing past him, Courtney moved swiftly back into the room and set the phone back on the night table, before settling on the bed and taking up the remote.

"Courtney?" Duncan started uncertainly. His concept of this girl had been shattered, and now, he wasn't sure what to think.

She breathed in deeply, before taking the moment to glance over at him. "What?"

Sympathy had never been Duncan's strong suit, but he decided he might as well try. "Are you… okay?"

"_Look,_" Courtney snapped, having been on edge. "I don't need pity from anyone, especially not _you_. So just do us both a favour and leave. _Now_. This trip is going to be miserable is you force yourself upon it."

Anger resurfaced in Duncan, and he stepped forward. "Hey! I was just trying to be _nice, _God forbid!"

"Oh, and I thought you _weren't_ nice!" She retorted angrily.

"I'm not, and from now on, I'll know better that to try!" He growled, furious now. All he had tried to do was be somewhat sensitive, but this girl couldn't even _begin_ to appreciate, never mind _notice_ the effort. Again, he found himself reconsidering his decision. And once more, he remembered his informal promise. He would not be persuaded by her. He _refused_ to let her believe she had beaten him. With Courtney— giving up wasn't an option. There was something about her that challenged him, something that pushed Duncan to his feet and ordered him to fight. And somehow, he never managed to win. Because every time he thought he had defeated her, she snuck up from behind and threw another blow.

They stood there, frozen to their spots and unwilling to back down. He was determined to go. She was determined to leave him behind.

Neither would come out a winner.

* * *

**Not too long, but there's some important development. I thought it'd be crucial for you guys (and Duncan) to understand the severity of Courtney's situation right away. Oh, and the whole flashback thing— the idea, if you were kind of confused, was that Duncan tipped off the principal about the fight. I remembered that we had one of those in our Guidance office, and basically it's just a box where you can anonymously slip in a piece of paper describing something that's going on. If it's not clear, he did it because he actually **_**didn't **_**want to hurt Harold. Yeah, Duncan's softer side is disturbed several times in this chapter. And there was a Lord of the Flies reference. I don't know, the word **_**ass-mar **_**popped into my head when I thought of Harold and his puffer and I was like, yay, Piggy! Plus there was that one episode of TDA where Duncan goes all crazy and Courtney says 'Lord of the Flies, much?' **

**Like it? Hate it? Review, and thanks for reading :)**


	5. You Haven't Given It A Chance

***

A pillow whipped across the room, smacking the side of Duncan's head.

"You didn't have to _hit _me with it."

Courtney growled low, her eyes like a sheet of ice. "Oh, I'm _sorry. _Have I inconvenienced you in some way? Is _that _it? Because I certainly wouldn't want to do _that!_"

Her anger was quick to launch, ever at the ready to strike again. Duncan had begun to adjust to its unpredictability, but he grew annoyed nonetheless, scowling in return. "Get _over_ it already."

"I'm not about to get over it!" she insisted furiously, stamping over to Duncan's side. "You shouldn't _be_ here!"

"I thought we already _had_ this argument."

Sparks flew in Courtney's eyes, and the stubbornness inside of her was as evident as ever as she insisted, "That doesn't mean I'm finished!"

This girl just wouldn't let it _go. _Her resistance had never surprised him—not even Duncan, of all people, could've blame her for it—but her persistence was _incredible_. He wouldn't have pictured her to be one to keep fighting long after the battle had been lost, still holding her ground in vain. Instead, he had assumed that she would simply sulk to no end when things didn't go her way. He'd expected her to be to spoiled to do anything for herself, too conceited.

And for whatever reason, the misconception caused a small, nearly insignificant twitch in his heart.

Duncan ignored it.

He stood to his feet, So he blew out a sigh and stood to his feet. His eyes resting on Courtney's.

"Look, I'm not here for you. I never _was._ I have no idea what makes you think I am, but I'm not here to shower you with sympathy and crap."

This wasn't enough, he knew, and the girl's anger didn't wavered. "Oh _really? _Than what _are _you here for? And don't tell me '_just 'cause'. _I'm not stupid enough to believe that you're really just _vacationing_ or something."

He searched her face sceptically. "Why does it even matter? Maybe I just felt like coming along. Is that such a _crime?_"

"Oh!" She exclaimed in fake surprise, "you just _felt like it. _Right! I understand that _completely. _I mean— come _on,_" Courtney dropped the mocking tone and glared. "Please! Don't act like I have no clue that you hate me! You've made it more than obvious— and you've got to know by now that I can't _stand _you. So what is it? Huh? Why would you even _bother?_"

It was odd, but as the words left her lips, Duncan felt unease rise in him. He didn't like her— had never found a reason to— but did he really _hate _her?

"I'm going to come— whether you like it or _not—_"

"No! You absolutely are _not_. You're staying here… _wherever—_ I really don't _care_. But you aren't coming with _me."_

"Right, because I'm going to listen to what _you_ say."

"You _should! _You certainly acting like a stubborn _child_!"

But Duncan had grown tired. Too tired to notice his _'stubbornness'_ ; too tired to argue. He had spent _hours_ cramped in a small car with a girl he couldn't stand, been ditched at a gas station, blew half of the contents of his wallet on a taxi that smelled of sweat, only to return to a hotel room in which he was not welcome and hit with the down-filled pillow he'd asked for. He'd had _enough— _and suddenly, something occurred to Duncan.

"Alright, I _won't_."

Courtney's eyebrow rose, and a flash of confusion washed over her. "…Oh?"

He rolled back onto the bed, shrugging leisurely. "Ech, what's the point anyway?"

A smile pressed itself upon her lips then, and she seemed at ease. "Good. So will you be leaving in morning or—"

But Duncan did not let her on so far, as he cut in casually, words cunning. "Yeah, I mean, I've got plans for the summer… a few things I want to do… Not to mention, I can think of more than a _few_ people that would be interested in hearing where you've been…"

The colour drained from Courtney's skin, and she choked in a breath.

"_What?_" she snapped. "Oh— oh _no. _Don't you even _think_ about— You wouldn't _dare_—"

A half-smile curled on Duncan's lips, and he fixed his eyes upwards onto the girl. "Do you want to take that chance, babe?"

She was too far beyond anger to correct him. "You couldn't possibly have the _nerve._"

His smile twitched amusedly.

"You'll find I have a _lot _of nerve."

What thoughts of homicide were running through her head, Duncan could only imagine. "You are an _asshole._"

Enjoying the expression lighting up Courtney's face, as well as his triumph, Duncan took advantage of his position by drawing his words out slowly, letting her grow more and more anxious. "Filthy mouth you got there. But you aren't one to talk, anyway. Who left me in the middle of a gas station?"

Courtney's lips fell open, seemingly unable to find the words. "That— that— that was totally different! You were— _I _was—"

"Payback's a bitch… _Princess_."

Her breath was quick, her face red, her shoulders shaking with the helplessness set upon her. Duncan knew he had won.

She swallowed, and responded in the only way she knew how:

"_Princess?"_

* * *

"My parents will _so _kill me. They hate it when I'm out with you."

Duncan grunted and slipped his hand from around the girl's waist.

"I told them we were going _bowling_. Can you believe they fell for that? God, I swear they should get their brains checked. As if I'd _bowl._"

Rachel fluffed her hair and looked up at Duncan with mischievous eyes. "That was _so _much fun. But seriously, you should get the seats reupholstered. Zebra skin? Are you _kidding? _And get the engine fixed, too. That weird noise it makes is annoying—no offense, but this thing is shit on wheels. Though," here she gave a grin to match her gaze. "It does make for a pretty good make-out mobile." Leaning closer, Rachel pressed her lips forcefully on Duncan's, pulling back only after her point had been made clear.

"It's not my car. My brother's visiting and I borrowed it. I figured it'd piss him and my folks off enough when I stumble in at three in the morning and turn on all the lights."

"Oh," Rachel said as Duncan turned the key in the ignition and the car rumbled to life. By her offhand tone, he knew she hadn't been listening very well. Not that it mattered, since she wasn't good for much more than late-night hook-ups anyway. "So, do you want to do something tomorrow night? Everyone's going to the football game, but I've never been into sports. Maybe we can meet behind the bleachers or something?"

Hand gripping the steering wheel, Duncan pulled out of the short side road, a spot obscured by trees and private enough for the two of them, and turned back onto the pavement. "Nah. I have plans."

"Yeah? What're you doing?" The blonde pulled a compact out of her purse, and was now smearing a lip gloss wand across her lower lip.

"Nothing."

Her brow furrowed, but only slightly, and her eyes didn't leave her reflection. "What? No— you just said you were doing something. C'mon, tell me."

"Let it _drop._"

Rachel's eyes narrowed in annoyance, and she let her glossy lower lip pucker out. "Oh, come _on. _I'm practically your girlfriend— _tell me!_"

"No." He paused for a moment, before letting a scowl brushing his features at the word _girlfriend_. But as a quote came to mind, the scowl eased. "'Don't ask me about my business, Kay.'"

The girl let out a sudden gasp, snapping her gaze to him quickly. She fluttered her lashes, tears springing to her eyes. "Oh— my— gosh. Did you just call me _Kay? _Who's Kay?" she squeaked, and for a moment, Duncan wondered if she was getting too attached. "Do you have to think about her when you— you know? Oh my gosh— is it because I put on a pound last week? I knew it! I'm not as attractive as I used to be!"

Duncan rolled his eyes. "No, babe, it's a quote."

The tears subsided almost instantly, her eyebrows drawing together confusedly as she squinted. "Huh?"

A feeling of annoyance settled in Duncan as he was forced to explain. "You know, at the end of the first Godfather. Michael doesn't want Kay to ask about him business, because he's the—" but the blank look on Rachel's face made him stop, and slow down. "It's a line from a movie."

"I know what the Godfather is, Duncan." She said, snapping the compact shut and sliding it and the lip gloss back into her bag. "It's that movie about a Mafia, right?"

And Duncan felt his jaw tighten slightly, and he gave a short, steady nod.

"Yeah. _That _movie."

**

"So… I'll see you whenever."

Rachel pressed her lips against his, quickly slipping her tongue through. She held him for a moment, before breaking away. "Yeah, I'll see you. Bye Duncan!"

She opened the car door and slipped out cheerfully. As she sashayed towards the front door, Duncan mused over his girl.

It wasn't as though Duncan changed girlfriends as often as he changed socks, but even still, he knew that Rachel wouldn't last. She wasn't the brightest bulb in the chandelier, and while intelligence didn't factor into her making out abilities, the lack of a fully-functional brain would surely get to him at some point, even if it did guarantee a no-strings-attached agreement.

But his thoughts were cut short as Rachel turned around and grinned at him. She snapped her hip to the side and placed a hand on it, creating a wave of curves throughout her body as she posed. The headlights illuminated her features, as if she were on display.

The boy grinned, his thoughts dissolving, and revved the engine.

* * *

Duncan sucked in a yawn, twisting under the sheets and stretching. His eyes opened leisurely, roaming the hotel room and settling on the alarm clock. It was ten thirty-five.

His gaze landed on Courtney then, who was breathing deeply in her sleep in the bed several feet from his. She was on her side, arms pressing the sheets against her waist, hair tousled and spread across her pillow. It was unusual, to see her in such a casual state. The boy propped himself up on his elbows and studied the odd sight of her for a short moment, before dragging himself out of the bed and slumping over to his duffel bag. He grabbed a change of clothes and shuffled into the washroom, closing the door behind him.

She hadn't given up easily. Her anger had been _more_ than blunt, and for a while Duncan figured she would stay up all night with a case of what he considered poor sportsmanship (she had, after all, lost the fight). But finally, Courtney decided to ignore him entirely, finding peace with a slim black MP3 player and curling up on the edge of the bed farthest from him.

It was at about four minutes into his shower when Duncan heard a sound from the other side of the door. His ears perked, and he rinsed the shampoo from his hair quickly before turning off the water.

When Duncan finished, he dried off with a towel and dressed quickly. A faint cloud of steam followed as he exited the bathroom.

Courtney was lying on the bed, sheets messily thrown back from her torso and knotted around her legs. Her eyes were open, though, and her fingers drummed a beat on her stomach. If it wasn't for her voice that came suddenly, Duncan would have assumed she had yet to notice him.

Her voice was stern, as though an order:

"We're going to leave within the hour— I don't want to be too far behind schedule. There's a continental breakfast downstairs, so we can grab something on the way out."

He nodded and watched as Courtney straightened in her bed and stretched, before grabbing a bundle of clothes and toiletries on the night table. She walked into the bathroom, but not before calling over her shoulder, "If you even _think _of opening this door, I will—"

Duncan scoffed, annoyed with her assumption, and interrupted. "_Trust_ _me_, you have _nothing_ to worry about."

He watched as her form disappeared, vaguely wondering what the threat might have been.

* * *

"Oh, don't tell me— no _way! _I can't deal with this right now! Arg!"

Courtney leaned over, trying to get a better glimpse of the wreck from the passenger side window. Her eyelashes fluttered.

"Wow." The girl bit her lip slowly, eyeing the flames as they sparked in the distance before them. A transport truck had rolled on its side, and was lying in the ditch a good hundred yards away. Without effort, Duncan knew it would not bode well for them.

Courtney sighed as Duncan twisted the keys in the ignition and let the sound of the car's engine dying away. Her eyes roamed to meet Duncan's, and she let a scowl overtake her features. "Well, this is just _great, _Duncan."

"How is this _my _fault?" Duncan demanded, annoyed at the thought of being blamed for something he was in no way connected with.

The brunette blew out a breath and unbuckled her seatbelt. "It might as well be. But, I mean, _look _at this! It'll take hours before we can get past, and I really can't afford _another_ setback." She bit her lower lip, gaze brushing him suggestively before sliding to a point past them.

A little smirk fell upon Duncan's lips, and he fixed the girl with a look. "You're pretty heartless, aren't you?"

Courtney's gaze jumped back to the boy beside her, and she scrunched her nose with annoyance. "Oh, yeah, because _you're _completely distressed right now."

"Doesn't that mean you've reached _my level _now?"

"Not even _close._" She reprimanded grouchily. "Just because I'm not overly emotional doesn't mean I'm heartless. Why cry over something I can't fix?"

Duncan paused for a moment, surprised by her response. It sounded like something he would have said. Maybe not in exactly in the same context, but nonetheless, something he would have said.

"C'mon," Courtney ushered suddenly, pushing open her door. "Let's go check this out."

With a slight shrug, the boy followed her lead, unbuckling himself and stepping onto the pavement. His gaze dropped, sliding over the skid marks as they wound down the road. Courtney took note of this as well, and he heard her suck in a breath.

There weren't any injuries as far as the pair could tell when they approached the scene. A man —who they assumed to be the driver due to the burnt edges of his clothes and the black scuffs marking his skin— was standing off to the side of the wreck, scratching his head and surveying the scene with an expression of disbelief. A small crowd of people had formed as well, watching the flames with mixed expressions. Apparently, Courtney was not the only one distraught by the obvious setback in their trip.

"What's going on? Has anyone called for the fire department?" Courtney asked, approaching a woman standing closest to them. The woman, whose arms were crossed as she chewed her lower lip agitatedly, turned at the sound of Courtney's voice, a startled expression consuming her features.

"Oh, yes— my husband just phoned. It was awful, the accident… we were only a few cars behind. An SUV tried to cut him off, nearly killed them both. Well, no— the SUV got off without a scratch, anyway. Drove away entirely. The truck, well…" she gestured towards the flames, heaving out a sigh. "The _nerve_ of some people…"

Courtney nodded in understanding, her features taking on an odd expression.

"Yeah, really… Well, thank-you." She turned to Duncan, catching his eye for short moment before slipping past and making her way back to the car. With a lingering stare on the accident, Duncan turned his shoulder and followed.

**

"Turn it down!"

"What?"

"I said, _turn it down!_"

"What? I can't hear ya!"

"_Oh, bullshit!"_

The silence had been too much for Duncan. They'd been stuck in the same spot for the past two _hours, _and he was sick of eavesdropping on the vacationing family behind him and the elderly couple ahead. He had tried walking it off, but the only remedy seemed to be blaring music as loud as he could.

Courtney's fingers curled crookedly, and her entire body seemed to wince as the song broke into another piercing guitar solo. She cracked then, and before Duncan had even the remotest chance to consider her command, she reached over and smacked the radio off.

"_Aw,_" she whined, massaging a spot behind her ear and closing her eyes, "that _hurt_."

Duncan snickered and made to switch the radio back on, turning the volume way down as he did. "You just can't appreciate good music."

"Oh, I can appreciate good music! Just not when it's causing my eardrums to _explode!_" She hissed in response.

The boy snorted with disbelief. "I wouldn't categorize _classical _as good music."

Courtney's eyes opened, and she shot Duncan a stern, scolding look."The only reason you say that —the only reason _anyone _says that— is because you can't begin to appreciate it."

"Yeah, _sure._"

Courtney pursed her lips, eyes sternly set on the still car several metres ahead of them. "You haven't given it a chance." She insisted.

"I've heard classical shit before, Courtney, and I know I don't like it." He told her pointedly, not wanting to be persuaded. For _once_, he wanted to have an opinion that wouldn't be questioned. But with heraround, those hopes were dying away. "Let it go."

"_No_," she refused stubbornly, and without a word of explanation, opened the passenger door and stepped out of the car. Duncan, frowning at the suddenness of her actions, craned his head and watched through the window as she hurried to the back of the car. He sighed, and pushed open his door to follow.

"What are you _doing?_" he muttered, watching as Courtney opened the trunk and pulled out a green Rubbermaid container. She set it on the pavement with a muffled _thump_, and popped off the lid. Duncan blinked.

Inside were _countless_ CDs. The entire box was full to the brim of them and, on the very top, sat a variety of classical albums. Courtney dropped to her knees and lifted her fingers to skim over the cases, teeth biting her lower lip.

"Holy sh— how many CDs do you _have?_" he asked incredulously. His surprise was not so much focused on the amount of CDs, but rather the fact that the collection belonged to _Courtney._

"Oh, well, maybe… one-fifty? In this box…" She muttered absently, squinting a label. She placed the CD by her knee and dug further into the box. Duncan studied her as she raked through the cases, watching as her expressions shifted, in the slightest, against each cover. After several minutes of searching, Courtney finally snapped the lid back on the container and slid it back into her car.

"Alright," she sighed, slamming the trunk and locking eyes with Duncan sternly. "I'll show you."

Annoyance climbed within Duncan, and he frowned as the brunette swerved by him and climbed into her seat. "Show me _what?_"

"Just get over here and _listen._"

Though unhappy at being ordered, Duncan grudgingly slumped over to the car, slamming the door as he slipped in.

"Now," Courtney started, inserting a CD into the player and fiddling with the volume knob, "listen. Don't just hear— try to _listen_. Can you do that?"

Duncan shot her a look.

"Yeah, I can _do that._"

The song started then, and Duncan watched as Courtney sank into her seat, eyes turned upwards. It looked as though the music was pouring from the speakers straight into her soul. Her expression was fixed into something contemplative, something too deep to understand in a glance.

Duncan, however, just heard noise. He recognized a violin, a cello… cymbals? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was that the sound protruding from the speakers was not his taste, wouldn't _become_ his taste, and that he couldn't wait for the song to end.

No, really_— _he _couldn't_. As the song launched into some weird pitchy mode, Duncan snapped and lunged towards the power button.

But his actions were cut short as Courtney raised her palm and slapped him clean across his forearm.

"I told you to listen!" She hissed, sounding much like a teacher scolding her student. "You could've at least _tried_!"

"I did!" Duncan snapped in response. "But your music is so—"

Courtney interrupted him with a _shh! _and held up her index finger. "Listen! Do you hear that? The way the music rises and falls? The way it gets so quick all of a sudden? Pay _attention _to that. Let it sink in."

Reluctance pooled within Duncan. Who was _she _to tell him what to do? But, though he wanted to wrestle out of the debate, a stubborn will to win was pounding in his skull. So he gave an eye-roll, remaining cool, and relaxed in his seat, fixing Courtney with an unimpressed look.

This time, though, he made a slight effort to hear what Courtney was hearing. Though he did not consider her opinion more valuable than his, he knew she wasn't an idiot. There must have been _some _substance to what she was saying.

Yeah, he could hear the rises and falls… but what good did they do? Every time the music dipped below, into a softer, creeping tone, his ears would perk, and Duncan would find himself nearly straining to hear the music pick up again. Jerkily, prickly, it would start to rise. Ambition would grow, and Duncan would find himself enjoying the sound of it a tad more. But then it would fall, to repeat again, and again, until finally, the sound was cut to a blunt stop.

"There," Courtney sighed, a finger lingering on the _eject _button. "You heard it _that _time."

Clenching his jaw, Duncan gave a short nod. "Yeah, I got what you meant about the whole rising and falling stuff. But," —here he smirked— "I _still_ didn't like it."

But the girl remained unperturbed by this fact, and she slid the CD back into its case. "That was never my intention. I can't help it if you aren't refined enough to appreciate classical," she returned his smirk with a sneer, "but I can at _least _get you to understand it better."

His eyebrow spiked. "_Oh?_"

Courtney ignored the look. "What feeling do you think that had?"

Duncan squinted. "What?"

"_The song,_" she snapped, glaring at him in the way one would towards a particularly stupid child. "What kind of feeling or mood do you think the song had?"

"Why is that important?"

The girl grunted, looking, to Duncan's mild amusement, thoroughly aggravated. "Just answer!"

"Yikes! Relax, will you?" he laughed, enjoying the heat that was rising in Courtney's cheeks. "Alright, it was… angry. I guess."

This answer seemed to please Courtney, as the red flush faded from her skin and her lips twitched into a quick, satisfied smile. "Alright, keep that in mind. Now—" she flipped through the short stack of CDs balancing on her knee and selected one. She removed the disc and promptly shoved it into the player.

Duncan braced himself to be hit with another tidal wave of boring classical music, but he was surprised.

He _knew _this song. No, more than that— he _liked _this song.

It was one of those head-bobbing, fist-pounding, scream-at-the-top-of-your-lungs kind of songs. The infernal beat had pounded through his skull during many of his early rebellion days, and had carried him through many of the things he had thrown to the corners of his mind, never to think of again.

He glanced at Courtney for a sign of explanation. But was even _more _bizarre was the fact that her fingers were drumming out the rapid, steady beat on the sides of her legs. After several moments, he watched as she reached over and, again, ejected the CD to replace it in its case.

"How do you know that song? No, wait— why do you _have _that song?" Duncan asked, scowling in confusion.

Courtney, who was not seeming to revel in his astonishment greatly, gave a mere shrug. "Because I like it. And because I don't live in a box. So what was the feeling of—"

"How could someone like _you _like a song like _that? _It's half-decent." Duncan demanded, not caring whether or not she took offence; which, apparently, she did.

The girl scoffed. "Oh, and what's _that _supposed to mean?"

Duncan paused, and decided to brush off the question. "It's angry, obviously."

"That's not what I asked!"

"It's what you were going to ask— before, anyway. Now, babe, it's angry. The song is _frustrated._ How's that for an answer?"

Courtney bared her teeth. "Half-ass! And enough with the 'babe'!"

Duncan grinned.

Taking in a deep breath, Courtney regained her composure and started again. "Anyway, the mood of _both _songs is angry."

The smile faded from his lips slightly, and a retort jumped to Duncan's mind immediately. "So what? Just because they both have the same _feel _doesn't mean they're on the same level."

"That's still something, though, isn't it?" Courtney pointed out, her gaze as soft as it had ever been against his. "The anger is just interpreted differently. Classical being more creative in its interpretation, punk rock being a bit more… _blunt_. One isn't necessarily better, just… _different._"

And though Duncan was not eager to admit it, there was something about how she had spoken that made him want her to continue. For a moment, he strained to hear her voice.

_Weird_.

Duncan watched her for a moment, watched as she waited for a response from him. He could see traffic beginning to move ahead of them, cars restarting and pulling forward on the pavement, but his eyes were attached to hers.

"Yeah… I get it, I guess."

He didn't speak again, and Courtney let their words drift away as she started the car and pressed on the gas. They drove past the wreck, and it within minutes, it was as though they had never stopped.

But neither of them seemed to notice a small, near insignificant smile as it brushed against the edges of Duncan's lips.

* * *

**Well! That turned out better than I thought it would. It just took editing. For anyone who'd care to know, the editing stage is just as, sometimes **_**more **_**important that the writing stage. And for everyone else, who already knew… I know, right?!**

**Yes, so Duncan's opinion of Courtney has changed a teensy, weensy bit. You can tell he has at least some respect for her (just enough, anyway…) but that he still hasn't warmed up to her per say…**

**I hope you enjoyed it. I think I enjoyed it. I had to crop out a whole (rather pointless) scene to make it work. Edit another part like crazy… And then there was the ending that I had to edit… I like it a LOT better now. It just has a better feel to it now. I've been listening to covers and songs 'cabreezah' on Youtube for inspiration… she's really, really good. I'm just saying, because she's worth the view. ANYWAY, tell me what you think about this chapter, what you hope to see in future chapters… whatever! Thanks for lending your eyes :)!**


	6. Yeah, I Got It, Thanks

"One bed or two?"

Duncan's eyes slid over the woman's features. The volume had depleted from her lips long ago—possibly from excess sun exposure, he couldn't be sure—but that clearly hadn't stopped her from painting on a pair anyway. In fact, it looked as though she'd painted on the majority of her face on.

"Two…" Courtney answered slowly, probably thinking the same thing.

The woman opened a drawer on her desk, and Duncan could hear the low clinking of metal. She produced a key a moment later, the rusty thing clenched between her red press-ons like prey caught between its predators talons.

"Well?" she asked haughtily, after neither of the teens jumped at the key. One of her thin black eyebrows rose sharply. "Are you gonna take it or what?"

Courtney snatched the key. "_Thanks_."

The woman nodded towards the hallway to their right. "Room seventeen. Empty the ash tray when you leave."

"You allow _smoking_ in the rooms?" Courtney asked, sounding aghast, her eyelashes fluttering and expression fixing into a glare.

"_Look,_" the woman snapped, the edge of her lip twitching with impatience. "We aren't running a Four Seasons here, alright? Take it or leave it."

Anger flashed in Courtney's eyes.

"_Excuse _m—"

That was Duncan's cue.

The boy latched his hand around the brunette's forearm and tugged sharply. "Let's go."

She hissed and demanded to be released, but the boy didn't let go until they reached their hotel room and pushed inside.

"You shouldn't have dragged me away! Oh— I'd like to tell _her_ a thing or two! Did you see the Corona bottle on the corner of her desk? Honestly! That's _completely_ inappropriate! And—oh… _ew…_"

_Ew_ was right. Duncan glanced over the room, and winced. He hadn't expected much better after noticing that three of the five neon MOTEL letters were burnt out when they pulled into the parking lot, but still. The wallpaper—once white, Duncan assumed—was stained yellow and peeling where it used to hug the wall. As was the carpet, which was matted and worn and slowly creeping up the walls in places. A certain stench, possibly a mixture of cigarette smoke and cheap beer that the last residents had spilt, clung to every inch of the room. Again, _ew._

It hadn't been their first choice for a place to stay the night, needless to say. But the accident earlier had set them several hours behind schedule, and they had neither the time nor the patience to seek out another motel.

Courtney moved cautiously to the far end of the room and dropped her suitcase by the radiator. She felt the surface of the bed—clad in a weird flowery comforter that had faded from too many years of harsh use—and eyed it vigilantly. Courtney pursed her lips, and slowly sat down.

_Wee—eek!_

"Oh _God._"

She flopped back onto the bed and covered her face with her hands.

"_Arg! _I might as well have slept in the car!"

Duncan set his duffel at the foot of his bed. "I _had _suggested that."

"I wasn't _serious._" Her fingers weaved through her hair, stopping partway and clenching into fists as she murmured, more to herself than Duncan, "_why _does everything have to screw me over? _Why?_ What did _I _do?"

"Do you want me to answer that?"

She glared from behind her palms. "Shut _up_, Duncan."

"At least there's a TV," Duncan pointed out optimistically, eyeing the small device where it sat atop a dresser opposite the beds. It was one of those old-school TV's, the kind with rabbit ears and dials instead of buttons. It was also covered in a thick layer of dust.

The bed creaked as Courtney sat up. Her hands slid to her side, and she blinked twice before glancing at Duncan expectantly. "Well? Trying turning it on."

"What? No 'please'?"

"Just _do_ it."

Duncan snickered and pressed the _On_ button. A fuzzy picture appeared, and he studied the screen.

"_Huh_."

"Well, can you fix it?" Courtney asked, and by the mere sound of her voice, Duncan could tell she had an eyebrow raised.

"Maybe. We'll see."

He fiddled with the dials for a few moments, which proved useless, before moving on to adjusting the antennas. Once or twice a blurry picture appeared, only to dissolve as soon as Duncan let go. He grunted with annoyance, and, brow furrowed, delved deeper into the job until a clear screen surfaced. Duncan stepped away, and the picture held its place.

_Finally._

Satisfied, he gave a grin and plopped down on the bed.

Bad move.

The screen erupted into another flurry, and Courtney let out a furious noise of disgust. She snatched the pillow off of her bed and whipped it at the screen viciously, causing the television to slam against the wall.

Duncan stared at the girl, taken aback. "What the hell is _wrong _with you? It's just a _TV_."

"What's _wrong _with me?" she choked, returning his stare with flame-filled eyes. "There's nothing _wrong _with me!"

"I disagree." Duncan snapped, scowling at the girl. "You're acting like a _bitch._"

The word made her eyes flare even more harshly.

"I'm _not_ a bitch. Don't you _ever _call me one." She growled. "And so what if I'm acting like one? I'm not a damn _cheerleader, _I don't haveto be excessively _happy _for you. And anyway— what reason do I have to be? Huh? I just ran away from _home_, I left my _parents_, I left my _school_ and I left my _friends _without _anyone_ knowing. I've gone through things that you can't even _begin _to understand. I'm _miles_ away from anywhere that _matters— _and oh, oh!— now the _TV_ isn't even working! So don't ask what's wrong with me— don't you _dare _ask. It's not me with the problem, it's not _me._ It's everything and every_one_ else!"

She dropped her head in her hands, and resumed the task of clenching strands of hair.

"Ugh!"

Duncan opened his mouth, and then closed it. Then he opened it again, and sighed. What was the point of trying to help her? She wasn't going to take sympathy, and Duncan had no idea how to give it. In that way, he recognized, they were almost—_almost_—well matched.

So he didn't. Didn't comfort her, didn't tell her it would be alright. Instead, he simply slid off of the bed and crouched before his duffel bag. He unzipped it, and pulled out a pair of jeans.

"What… what are you _doing?_"

He was surprised to see that her eyes weren't puffy, nor that her cheeks weren't stained wet. "I thought you were crying."

"I _don't_ cry." She snapped, expression hardened.

Duncan shrugged, and slipped into the bathroom. He heard Courtney grunt from around the corner. "You didn't answer my question!"

He changed out of his shorts quickly and turned on the bathroom faucet. He wet his fingers and re-spiked his limping Mohawk, subconsciously noting how unsteady the stream of water was.

"Alright," he mused, emerging from the washroom and colliding with a glaring Courtney, whose arms were crossed as she fumed.

"_Well?_"

"It's going to be chilly out." Duncan stated simply, and gestured to the girl's suitcase. "I suggest you put jeans on."

"But—"

"We're going out. We're going to have some fun. Well, I can't speak for you. Come with me or don't, but either way, I'm not going to sit around here and listen to you whine." He added the last part to see her flare up.

She flared up.

"I am _not _w_—_"

"Are you going to get changed or not?" Duncan cut in, impatient. "I'm not going to wait for you."

"Why would I even go with you? I don't even know what you're _doing._" She paused for a moment, and in that time, her eyes narrowed softly. Her voice was slow. "Honestly, Duncan? You really think I'm going to do _drugs _with you?"

The word hit Duncan with a jolt, and his eyes darkened.

"That's _not _what I was suggesting. I don't even—" Duncan's lips paused, and his tense shoulders relaxed. He chose to let the subject drop. "I just need to get _out_. I need to _do _something. Are you in or not?"

"We have to drive tomorrow!" Courtney insisted, completely ignoring his reasoning. "I'm not going to let _you _hold me back from doing what I have to. The entire _point _of this trip is to get to my aunt's, _not _to go around partying!"

Duncan growled low. Oh, right, because that was _all _he was interested in. Drugs and partying and sleeping around. That's all he was good for.

But Duncan chose not to be spiteful. He decided not to lash out against the girl, decided to hold his tongue. Because suddenly, the buttons to push were just that much clearer.

"Alright, fine. Stay here. _I'll _go out. But answer me this first: why the _hell_ are you so scared?"

Courtney's eyebrow lifted.

"Scared? How am I _scared?_"

Duncan watched her actions carefully and forced a twitching smile down. "Well, what's the rush? Are you _that_ scared of your parents?"

She flushed, annoyed. "_No. _My mother is hours away. Why would I be scared? What are you getting at?"

He rolled his shoulder back in a shrug. "Nothing. Just, I don't see why you're acting like a little kid and running from your problems."

"I'm not _running! _I've solved my… _problems. _I left, didn't I?"

"Exactly. So why do you need to keep running? Why don't you try to _enjoy _yourself?"

"Because! This isn't a _vacation, _Duncan—"

He jumped at that. "Why not? It's summer, it should be. You've already left. That's over. What, are you just going to keep whining and running or are you going to have _fun?_"

Her lips stalled.

"I'm not _whining._"

Duncan nodded towards the door with a slow, challenging smile. "Prove it, then."

For a moment, Courtney was still. She glared at him with narrowed eyes, but Duncan understood. She wasn't mad for the reason she had been before, but because he had broken her

The girl exhaled, and leant over to snatch a pair of jeans.

His smile spread into a grin, and the boy was just about to flaunt his victory when Courtney snapped at him with a simple, "shut up, Duncan."

She stalked off to the washroom, slamming the door behind her.

Duncan leaned back, snickering to himself. The laughter subsided as a thought, a small, insignificant query came to mind.

Why had he worked so hard to get her to go, anyway?

Courtney's murmur floated past his ears.

"Stupid, insolent, conniving asshole…"

* * *

"There's nothing to _do_."

Duncan tossed a glance at the oncoming traffic and pulled out of the parking lot. "We'll _find _something to do, then."

Courtney spiked a brow. "So, what, we're just going to drive and driveuntil we come across something worthwhile? Is _that _the plan?"

"If you consider that a plan, then yes, that's the plan."

"Well I _don't_." She growled, her nose scrunching the way it did when she was annoyed. He was starting to notice things like that. "Would a bit of structure _kill you?_"

The boy shrugged. "Maybe. I'm not sure. But I don't want to take any chances."

At that, she rolled her eyes.

"You're so _difficult_."

The corner of Duncan's lip quirked in a slight smile. "Yeah, well, I try."

"So I've _noted_."

Courtney shifted away from him then, rolling down the window and leaning her elbow against the door softly. Duncan followed suit, and the car was quickly filled with wind.

For a while, it was quiet. Neither teen spoke, neither made much of an effort to. They simply fell into silence, and Courtney seemed content with keeping to herself and watching the world as it passed by.

But Duncan was fidgety, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel and tapping his foot anxiously when they stopped at lights. He felt caged, in a way, and wanted to stretch. After ten minutes of driving around the town, Duncan finally voiced his restlessness.

"I'm bored."

The girl beside him didn't shift as she spoke. "Then find something to entertain yourself."

"I thought you _wanted_ to find something to do."

"Well, now I _don't_. I'm fine with just driving."

Duncan glanced at the girl. "Make up your mind, will you?"

At that, she slid her elbow off of where it rested and turned. "Oh, right, because you're _totally_ decisive. Why don't you tell me where we're going, then? Hmm?"

"I already told you, I haven't thought of where to go yet, _Princess_. That doesn't make me _indecisive_, just undecided_._"

"I'm surprised you knew what that meant, _Ogre._"

He raised a brow. "Ogre?"

A little smirk works its way to her lips. "Yeah. Ogre. If you can give me nicknames, then so can I."

"Ech," he shrugged. "Kind of weak."

"It is _not_!"

"Not bad for _you_, though. We can't all hope to reach my superior skill level."

She snickered. "Your _superior skill level? _Nice terminology there, Neanderthal. But I'm going to have to disagree. Princess? Totally cliché."

"Neanderthal? Not bad, not bad. Still, you might want to give it a bit more substance."

"Oh, and _Princess _has substance? It doesn't even _fit_."

It was Duncan's turn to laugh. "You want to bet? I bet you couldn't last a week without bossing—"

"Turn!"

"What?"

"Turn _now!_"

Courtney thrust her arm forward, pointing towards a plaza to their right. Duncan followed the gesture, eyes settling on a building, and squinted his eyes in question. "You want to go _bowling?_"

She faced him with a sure expression. "What? Do you have any _better _ideas? Because go ahead and voice them now, but either way, we are _going _bowling."

End. Of. Story.

Duncan shrugged, turning into scarcely populated lot and pulling up to the small building. "Whatever."

Courtney smiled, satisfied, and waited for Duncan to park before unbuckling her seatbelt and slipping out the door. But she didn't head for the bowling alley; instead, she closed her door and walked in the opposite direction.

"Courtney? The front door is the _other _way_._" Duncan eyed the girl slowly as she trotted over to the back of the car and opened the trunk. "What are you—"

She smirked at him, pulling out a slick black bag and hooking it into the crook of her elbow. "What? You don't expect me to use the gross bowling balls _there, _do you?"

The girl slammed down the trunk and, with a smug expression, proceeded to push past Duncan.

"Be careful, bowling might ruin your nails!" he called after her. But Courtney simply brushed off the warning and continued to saunter towards the building.

For his own safety, he hoped Courtney was a better loser than he predicted.

* * *

"_Gobble gobble!"_

Duncan scowled, sinking deeper into his chair.

"_Gobble gobble!"_

Courtney spun on the heel of her bowling shoe, her smile wide, and slid into her seat. She pointed towards the screen above them.

"See, Duncan? Three strikes in a row makes for a _turkey. _Do you know what a turkey is? Do you want me to explain it to you?"

She was belittling him.

"It's a _bird. _Do you know what a _bird_ is?"

"_Gobble!"_

Duncan glared at the animation as it pranced above them, and soon enough the mocking turkey disappeared to reveal their scores.

Courtney was beating him. And not by a little. She seemed to be enjoying it, too. Not that Duncan could really blame her—he would be doing the same thing, in her position—but he _did_ have every reason to despise her for it. He didn't like losing in the _first_ place, but losing to Courtney?

Torture.

So he got up and snatched a black ball—he was trying out all of the bowling balls, as though one may contain a significant amount of luck—and shuffled over to the lane. He squinted, eyeing the pins carefully, and swung back his arm.

"Gobble!"

Duncan started, the ball slipping from his fingers and dropping straight to the gutter with a _thwomp. _He whipped around and gave a glare.

Courtney cackled.

"Oh, Duncan— the ball's supposed to roll _down _the lane, not drop right _in_ it."

His eyes narrowed.

"Yeah, I _got _that."

He turned and picked up another ball. Duncan waited for the lane to clear before drawing back his arm, straight as he could make it, and following through.

The ball spun down the lane, a strong throw, no doubt, but just as quickly veered off and knocked down a mere three pins on the right side. Duncan grunted in annoyance.

It was a stupid game. A stupid, _useless _game.

"Do you want some help?"

He whipped around. "No, I'm fine, _thanks._"

Courtney smirked, raising a brow. "It looks to _me _like you need help."

"Yeah, well, I _don't_."

That wasn't good enough, apparently, and Courtney slipped out of her chair to show him. "Firstly, it's _not_ the ball. It's you. There is no such thing as a _lucky ball_."

Oh. She'd noticed.

"I never said there _was_." Duncan sniffed, a little more defensive than he wanted to sound. Courtney noticed this, and raised her brows.

"Just shut up and listen, alright? Now," she poked his shoulder, "back up. You're way too close."

He rolled his eyes. "Look, I don't think—"

"Back _up_!"

The boy lifted his palms and took a step back.

"No, a little closer— okay, that's good." Courtney gave a nod. "Now—" she reached for a ball, "you're way too stiff. You have to relax. And it isn't all about strength."

A smile pressed on his lips. "So, you're saying I'm _too strong_?"

Courtney's eyes met his, and for a moment, Duncan wanted to see her flustered. He wanted to see her cheeks flare pink, her eyes flicker, her lips part. Something.

"No, I'm saying a seven-year-old girl could beat you."

The smile slipped.

She handed him the ball. "Relax your elbow a bit—not _that _much—and _keep your wrist straight_. Don't twist it when you swing back, that'll send it straight into the gutter. Take a step when you follow through, and keep your toes pointed towards the middle pins. See the arrows? On the floor? _Use_ _them_. And focus on your arm when you follow through. No— don't _look _at your arm, look at the pins. But still make sure your wrist is straight."

"How am I supposed to look at the pins and the arrows and my wrist all at the _same_ _time_?"

"Use your peripheral vision! And set yourself up well. Now follow through softly, bending your knees, and _don't _step over the foul line. That's a foul."

"Yeah, I _figured_."

Courtney stepped back. "Now try."

Sighing, Duncan bent his elbow, supporting the ball underneath with his left hand, and drew back. His eyes jumped to the painted arrows briefly, before settling the centremost pin. He snapped his wrist so it was straight, and followed through swiftly.

The ball rolled down the lane cleanly, and there was a loud clatter of pins falling.

Well, of _a_ pin falling.

"You should keep your shoulders parallel to the alley." Courtney advised breezily, picking up her blue ball and ignoring Duncan's muttered profanities.

She waited until the pins had been cleared and replaced before bowling another perfect strike.

* * *

Duncan latched his hand around the shadowy knob of his front door. He held it there for a moment, steadying himself, before slipping his key into the keyhole and twisting his wrist. The lock clicked, and he pushed his way inside.

No so subtle entering as he'd been leaving. Though, sneaking out had been the actual risk, hadn't it? It didn't matter so much whether or not he got caught at this point, really. The night was nearly spent, and no amount of yelling by his father could take away the hazy, light feeling that swelled in his mind.

He was detached from the world, in a way. Detached from responsibilities, from conflict. It was like he was floating above everything, above everything he wanted to escape and forget. And though the feeling was drifting from him, there were still traces of that weightlessness in his mind as he stumbled into his darkened foyer.

Which, he realized dimly, was not so dark.

A lamp was lit in the living room, just a single lamp with enough light to illuminate the soft lines of his mother's face.

Duncan slowed, lips parted, and stopped to meet the woman's gaze.

It wasn't the first time he had snuck out, nor was it the first time she had known. The mornings when his eyes were dark with lack of sleep, when he flinched at the slightest sliver of light, when he clamped his palms over his ears at the smallest hint of noise, she knew he was hung-over. And she would fuss about him and toss Tylenol in his direction and brew a cup of strong black coffee. And she would lift her index finger, and point it at him, and tell him to be more responsible. And then she would kiss him on the forehead, tell him she was glad that he had not driven, and that would be it. She wouldn't flip out, wouldn't scold him mercilessly. She would simply fix him up, remind him of what was right, and send him back out into the world to face another day.

But this time, she didn't do any of those things. She merely sat, gazing at him. Her eyes, mirror replicas of his, looked sad, dim. Disappointed. Duncan didn't ask why. He already knew.

It was the first time he had gotten high. And by the look in his mother's eyes, Duncan was sure she knew.

He could have blamed it on the scent that loomed about him like a bad cologne, and for a moment, he did. But Duncan knew that it had been the way he had walked in, the way he had stumbled upon the house like a stranger, lost and impassive. Not like Duncan, not like her son.

Carol didn't say anything. Her eyes flickered to the floor, and she pursed her lips softly. Tension clung at Duncan's insides, but he couldn't work up the nerve to utter a word in his defense. The woman lifted her arm, then, and flicked off the lamp. She stood, and her eyes met his. It was a brief second, and though it was dark, Duncan could catch enough of the glance to see the disappointment sharply in her eyes. And then she slipped past the young man entirely, and Duncan heard the creak of stairs, the quiet tap of a bedroom door closing, and she was gone.

For a long time, the boy didn't move. He stood and tried to make sense of himself, of what had happened, of what he had done. But the shadows on the walls seemed to waver, and his mind seemed to waver, and he slipped to the floor before his knees had the chance to give out underneath him.

And it was quiet.

And it was still.

And Duncan fell asleep, the cool hardwood floor of the foyer pressing against the back of his neck and palms.

He didn't move until his father's yelling woke him several hours later.

"You got _high? _You got high, didn't you? Don't lie to me!"

His mother stood behind him, silent and emotionless, a cup of strong black coffee clutched between her fingers.

* * *

**Okay.**

**So, yeah. Just going to clear up a few things about the last part. I'm not for drugs, I'm really not, but I also don't believe that anyone who does drugs is the devil and should burn, burn, burn. There's a lot of drug use at my school, and I mean a **_**lot. **_**This kid that sits in front of me kept talking about how you get the munchies after taking marijuana, and bragging about how he got high for the first time. And this other girl in one of my classes, who I would have never thought would get high, did pot with my friend's brother. Wait, wait, I'm not gossiping—I have a point—just wait for it.**

**What bothered me was not so much that they took drugs but rather their reasons for taking them. He did it to fit it and to be cool. The girl did for the same reasons but also because, I think, of peer pressure. Ugh, I hate that term… But you know what I mean. I can't know for **_**sure,**_** and I realize that people do drugs for various reasons (not all of which are that shallow) ****but considering their personalities, I don't think I'm awfully far off base.**

**Again, the reason it bothered me was because of **_**why. **_**And, to actually relate to the story, I didn't want Duncan to be characterized in that way. At least not completely. I've always been against Duncan—as a character— taking drugs. But I'm not going to pretend like it's not likely. So, I thought this would be the best direction to take it in. It gives him more depth, I guess. I tried to give him a deeper reason. Do you know what I mean? Oh, gosh, sorry about all this. Too many words!**

**To take on a lighter tone, I think I'm happy with this chapter. I feel as though their relationship is inching forward, ever so slightly, ever so painstakingly. The bowling part, for example. And for the record, I'm certainly no expert— I Googled 'bowling tips' and took out what made sense. I'm going to have to try them out next time I go bowling. Oh, plus, I accidently wrote '…and she grabbed his balls'. And I laughed. And then I felt dirty. Typos strike me at odd times.**

**For the obscenely long AN, I apologize. But thanks to each and every one of you guys who have taken the time to read and review. It's pretty sick.**


	7. The One Thing We Have In Common

()()()

"This place is still nasty."

Duncan shrugged in response, closing the door behind him and tossing the key onto the dresser. "You didn't expect it to clean itself, did you?"

The girl raised an eyebrow, dropping the pillows she had retrieved from her car at the head of her bed. "No, but I'd hoped I would be in too good a mood to notice the mess. Though, I suppose, my opponent was _less _than compatible, so winning didn't do all too much for my pride." She smirked in his direction.

"You didn't even win by _that_ much."

Courtney's lower lip protruded mockingly. "Aw, is Duncan's poor ego bruised? Getting defensive? And yes, actually, I _did_ win by that much. The scoreboards don't lie."

"Well, then, you were cheating."

"Oh—I did _not _cheat!"

Duncan snickered. "It was a _joke. _Relax, Princess. Though," he paused, thinking. "It wouldn't surprise me."

"I do _not_ cheat_._" She scoffed, eyes narrowed.

"Yeah? Well, what if you were losing?"

Courtney fixed Duncan with a strange look, as though she didn't understand the word. "Why would I be _losing?_"

At that, Duncan laughed. A loud laugh. And for a moment, he thought he saw the corners of Courtney's quirk. But the second passed, and her eyebrows drew together again.

"Did you lock the door?"

Laughter subsiding, Duncan followed Courtney's gaze. He shook his head.

"What? Oh— Nah, I didn't think—"

"_That's_ not surprising." She cut in with a mutter, slipping past the boy and moving to latch the door. Duncan gritted his teeth, irked, but chose to hold his tongue. It didn't matter anyway. He was _'choosing his battles', _so to speak. Though it didn't seem to make a difference with the girl— she could pick a fight out of thin air. She always had an opinion, a theory, an idea on _something. _And as simple as the concept could be, there was always passion within her.

Passion. That was one way to describe it.

And in a way, he liked that about her. There were moments when he wanted to tease her, to poke and prod until the fire sparked in her eyes, until her nose scrunched, until warmth ran to her face and turned red with some kind of blaze. And she would snap at him and speak to him in ways that he had never been spoken to before. She was reckless and wild in her feelings, tactless, blunt, and she wouldn't restrain herself for him. She was fearless, Duncan had to give her that.

Though, most of the things she burned over were petty. Silly things, things the girl shouldn't have cared about anyway, never mind blow up over. Duncan couldn't begin to understand why she made such a big deal over misconduct, over grades, over punctuality, or any of the other things she rambled on about long after he had finished listening. She was confusing that way, a little alien to him. And, he supposed, a little more interesting. Maybe. Just a little, anyway. Not all that much.

But there were several things he still wanted to know. And, not really concerned with any emotional trauma he might cause her, decided to voice one of them.

"Hey, just a question— does Bridgette know where you are?"

The girl was caught off guard, and turned from where she bent over her open suitcase to glance at him. "_Excuse_ me?"

Duncan passed his tongue over his lips. "I said, does Bridgette—"

"No, I _heard _you"—she cut in, voice suddenly a snap—"but how is that any of _your _business?"

Courtney snatched the toothbrush from her bag and stalked off to the washroom. Knowing he had hit a delicate spot, Duncan grabbed his own toothbrush and followed her inside.

"Well," the boy mused as he stuck the bristles under the running tap and smearing them with Crest, "I really _should_ know. It's not good to keep secrets."

"Urg—" Courtney yanked the toothbrush out of her mouth and scrunched her nose. Duncan smiling at the gesture knowingly. "Why do you inshish on knowing _everyfing?_" She paused to spit in the sink, clearing herself of the lisp. "You're like a little _child_. Why? Why? Oh, come on _Courtneyyy_! Tell me _whyyy!_ Grow up, Duncan! Not everything applies to you!" She stuck the brush back into her mouth and moved it vigorously.

The impression made Duncan laugh around the foam in his cheeks, and he too spat in the sink. "Alright, okay, I see that. Don't tell me. You've already answered my question, anyway. A little too defensive there, Princess."

"Wha—? Oh!" Courtney growled and narrowed her eyes at Duncan. "You don't know anyfing!"

"I know you left without telling your best friend."

"Shuh up!"

"Wait— does she not know _anything? _You didn't tell her _anything_ about your parents, did you?"

"I shaid, shuh _up!_"

"That's pretty bad, you know. I thought you guys were close and stuff…"

Aggravated, Courtney finally pulled the toothbrush out and rinsed her mouth. "I already told you, it's _none _of you business!"

Duncan turned on the faucet, and raised an eyebrow. "You can say that as much as you want, but you'll still be a jerk."

The girl's lips parted. "I'm _not_ a jerk, I just—haven't—gotten to call her yet. That's all! I'm _going_ to, though. I am! But you aren't one to talk, anyway—do your parents know where you are? Huh? No, they _don't._"

"Like I _care._ They aren't home, anyway. They have this thing up in Toronto."

Courtney pushed out of the washroom and slipped her things into her suitcase. "You aren't one to talk, then."

"Yeah, but Bridgette will hate you for it, whereas I don't _care_ if my parents hate me. My dad has been pushing to send me to military camp since I was seven." Duncan wandered over to his bed and settled into the squeaky mattress.

Standing, Courtney flickered her glance over at him and placed her hands on her hips in a kind of _'power stance'_. "Really? You honestly think _I'm_ the person to complain about your _parents _to?"

Maybe not.

"Why not? It might be the one thing we have in common."

She scoffed. "I don't think so. You don't know _anything_ about what my parents are like."

Duncan's eyebrow rose, and his head tilted to the side. "Oh? How do you know _my_ parents aren't abusive?"

"Because if they were, you wouldn't ask so many questions."

They watched one another for a minute, before Duncan's lips slipped into a sly smile. "You're really smart, you know that?"

Courtney's eyes slid away.

"Yeah, actually. I do."

And with those words she dropped onto the bed and pressed her back into the comforter. Her eyes roamed the ceiling, her fingers brushed the fabric beneath her, and it was a moment before either teen spoke.

"If you call you parents… I'll call Bridgette." Courtney craned her neck to share a glance with Duncan. "_Alright?_"

It was the impatience in her voice, he supposed, the kind of passion that made his reach for his phone.

"Yeah, sure. Why the hell not?"

* * *

Duncan didn't go to English class very often, but when he did, he liked to be in his seat. It was perfect: right at the back, near the window, and not surrounded by people that pissed him off. The desk itself was even embellished with his signature skull. So when he cruised into class that Monday, he was less than pleased to see the spot occupied.

Since the beginning of that year, it had been his seat. _His _seat. It was one of the ways he had differentiated himself from his ninth-grade peers, the way he had made his mark. Anyone who didn't recognize that would pay the price.

So the boy cleared his throat briefly, loosened his shoulders and sauntered over to his spot. A crowd had formed around the desk: its occupant seemed to be pretty popular for a new kid. But as Duncan grew nearer to the inevitable warzone, he noted the sudden shift in the crowd, their unease. Some of them scattered; most of them merely backed up, nervous but eager to see what would happen.

He planted his palms on the desk with a nice smacking noise, something to put this new kid at unease. A pair of eyes flicked up, and the kid grinned.

"Hey, man, nice to meet—"

"Knock knock."

The boy's eyebrows drew together with confusion.

"Uh, what?"

Duncan cleared his throat loudly, obnoxiously, and repeated: "Knock, _knock_."

New Kid, not sure of what to, glanced around at the other students. A few stared blankly, but one, out of encouragement, shouted, "Just answer him, man!"

So New Kid did as directed. "Uh, who's there, dude?"

"Urine."

"Um, urine who?"

At that, Duncan leant forward. He wanted New Kid to hear him, and hear him well.

"Urine my Goddamn _seat_."

And Duncan leant back, and watched as the boy just stared. Stared straight ahead, his lips parted, his face blank. And for a split second, Duncan wondered if he'd killed the boy just like that, out of pure fright.

But then New Kid's lips drew back, and his eyes flickered wildly, and he let loose a string of laughter that flooded the room.

"Oh—_ha_! I—_ha_! I get it! It's like, you know, like, you're _in!_ You know? Like, _urine_, and then, _you're in_? Because I'm in your seat, right?Ha— I get it! Aw, man, that's freakin' _hilarious! _Aw man, aw man… Oh—here's your seat back…" And the boy stood from the desk, still snickering, and nodded his head towards the carvings. "Did you do those? They're pretty sick."

Still not entirely sure of what had happened, nor how he should react, Duncan slipped into his desk uncertainly. "Yeah. I decided to personalize it."

"Cool, man." New Kid grinned, and Duncan felt himself slowly smile back. Maybe this guy wasn't too bad. He knew how to take a joke, at least. "Hey, d'you mind if I grab this desk?" He gestured to the one beside Duncan. The boy shrugged in response.

"I usually put my shit there, but go ahead."

New Kid bobbed his head amusedly and slouched into the seat, traces of laughter still bubbling up to the surface.

"It's Geoff, by the way."

"Duncan."

()()()

"Woah—woah—_woah. _Who is _that?_"

Duncan followed his friend's gaze across the cafeteria. "Bridgette? What about her?"

Geoff's lips had parted, and his eyes looked as though they might start to mist if he didn't blink soon. "Is she dating anyone?"

"I don't know." Duncan eyed his friend wearily. "Don't you think you should get to know her before you start thinking about _dating _her? She's into all this environmental crap."

"No, man— I can _feel _this one." He made a fist and pounded it against his heart twice. "It's like, love at first sight, you know? Like Romo and Julie, right? We're _meant _to be together."

Duncan clicked his tongue. "Yeah, I doubt that. But go ahead and talk to her, if you want. I'm telling you this now, though, because you're my bud and I don't want you to get crushed: she's _not_ going to be interested. Alright? She's into different guys. Don't waste your time on— Geoff?"

Geoff clearly hadn't been listening. His eyes were glazed even more profoundly now, and he was slowly slinking his way across the room. It was only when Bridgette's eyes landed on him that the boy remembered himself and glanced towards the ceiling as he inched closer. He lifted an arm and raked his hand through his hair, trying to be subtle. Bridgette had noticed him, though, and her eyebrow was raised suspiciously as the boy fumbled around nervously. After several minutes, Geoff finally decided to—and Duncan winced at this—_'notice'_ the girl. He pretended to be startled at the sight of her, before formally introducing himself and seemingly pulling out a random conversation from his hat.

Geoff was the most sociable person Duncan knew. The guy could find a group of friends _anywhere_, could strike up a bubbly conversation with the most _unfriendly_ of all people, and had an ease and confidence with others that even Duncan admired. But standing there, across the room, talking to a girl who had written her seventh-grade speech on saving the whales, he was hopeless.

And for the life of him, Duncan couldn't _begin_ to understand why.

* * *

"…Duncan?"

"Uh, yeah, Bridgette?"

There was a slow, heavy sigh on the other end, and Duncan's eyes flicked to the ceiling.

"Just… make sure… make sure she's okay. I know that's a lot to ask, because you don't know her and everything, but… she just… just— Well, you know. Just make sure she doesn't stress out or anything. Alright? Duncan?"

"Yeah, yeah. I got it."

Another sigh. "Okay. And make sure she calls me. Often."

"I said I _got it._ Stop worrying, alright?"

"Yeah, okay, just— take care of her. Courtney's going through a lot. She needs someone right now… I wish I was there."

"Well, you're not, so just trust me on this. Besides, Courtney can take care of herself well enough. Right, Princess?" He looked up from the phone. Said girl glanced away.

"Okay, well, tell her I'll talk to her later. Bye, Duncan."

"See ya, Bridgette."

He snapped the phone shut, and fell back onto the bed.

"Well, that wasn't too bad, was it?"

Courtney didn't answer him. She had gone out in the hall to speak with Bridgette, so Duncan hadn't heard much of their conversation, but it wasn't difficult to determine how it had gone. Courtney's eyes had been dry when she'd slipped back into the room to hand Duncan the phone—yes—but they were also dim. Dim in a way that she flicked them from Duncan quickly, like it was a vulnerability she wouldn't show.

A great contrast to Duncan's phone call, of course, which had lasted less than three minutes. Courtney had watched him then, as he reassured his mother and taken a lecture from his father. And when the phone snapped shut between his fingers, and had been offered to her, she had taken it with a simple, "Huh."

The girl shifted then, her sigh gathering and releasing all at once. "I'm going to bed."

"Whatever," he muttered. Courtney slipped under her covers, nestling in close. Duncan eyed the second pillow where it lay by her head. "Do you mind if I take that?"

Her eyes flicked open, settling on Duncan impassively. She moved grudgingly, and tossed him the fluffy pillow with reluctance.

"Thanks."

She watched him for another moment, her eyes dark. And then she reached over to flick of the lamp, and settled into her sheets, and didn't speak again. Duncan rolled his eyes at her gloomy silence, and he too relaxed into his mattress as best he could manage.

The girl was strange. Strange in a way that didn't strike him immediately, but rather in a way that slunk under his skin and cooled him from the inside. Just… strange.

It held her scent. The pillow— it smelt of her. Though, he couldn't be sure of how to describe it; it seemed to be all over the place, yet collected beneath him. It was of her, though. He was sure of that.

And though sleep crept upon him—enticingly, at this point—the boy couldn't help but let a final thought slip into his mind.

Passionate. Above all things, he supposed it was passionate.

* * *

**Haven't you ever noticed that? How a person's pillow will smell exactly like them? I have. Mine smells like… laundry detergent. Huh. Does that make me boring?**

**I know this is up a bit early for me— certainly up before Together. But I had inspiration for this one, and it came a bit more quickly that Together would have. Because to be honest, I've been a little stressed with exams and I figured that I'd tackled the last part of the three-shot when I had time. I don't want to prevent other updates, you know?**

**Well, I hope you liked the chapter. I think it was rather interesting— I enjoyed it well enough. I know it doesn't seem incredible crucial, but we can still see some development with Duncan and his **_**fe—eeeeeeliiiiiiings! **_**Yeah, well, you're going to have to anticipate a few chapters like this: not every chapter will have an epic plot or something of that sort. Some will be simpler, and for good reason. It's those little-bitty moments that count, right?**

**Oh, right— the joke. Don't you just want to kill me for that? I know, I know, **_**so**_** lame. But I'm not going to lie, I love puns! And that's just the way I pictured them meeting. So, you know, if you didn't enjoy it… well… suck it up, buttercup. There may be more to come! XP**

**So, thanks for R&Ring! And I really appreciate your opinions on the last chapter— it means a lot to have you guys care enough to share with me :)**

**Oh, and has anyone else noticed that certain symbols don't show? My astericks are gone! Gasp! Sorry if that makes any previous chapters a little confusing. There was supposed to be a break there- it'll happen with the flashbacks.**


	8. AN!

**Hi guys! I know I haven't worked on this story in a while, but I've decided to get back at it and finish Gone :) I hope that the next chapter will be up in the next week or two, but I'm going to try my best. I'm sorry that this story has been forgotten for such a long time, but I hope that there are at least a few people who will be happy to see it updated!**

**PM me/comment if you have questions**

**-TellMeSomethinIDontKnow**


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